


Bunny Ain't No Kinda Rider

by hotot



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Bickering, Catagory f u, Category? Other?, Depression, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Freeform, Friends to Lovers, Game Spoilers, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Identity, Gender-Neutral Courier (Fallout), Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Genderfluid Character, Getting to Know Each Other, I hate ship tags, Memory Loss, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Courier, Other, POV Character of Color, Queer Friendly, Romance, Smut, Some Plot, Suicidal Thoughts, Tags May Change, Trans Craig Boone, Trans Male Character, always excluding NB characters, give me better tags, is it M/F? M/M?, no, only a little tho, unsafe binding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-02-07 20:11:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12848628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotot/pseuds/hotot
Summary: Bunny doesn’t need someone to watch their back,per se. They know the land, they know their mission, and they know how to have a good time all on their lonesome. But it’s somehow easy to get used to the tall, stoic, sunglasses-sporting sniper who seems content to speak in three-word sentences and follow them around the Mojave while they hunt down Mr. Checkers.And once in awhile... Bunny even gets Boone to smile.Or: Sad Sniper Man and Hayseed Hippie Courier (try to) take New Vegas.





	1. Wind In My Teeth

**Author's Note:**

> Eyyyy I'm finally playing New Vegas and I'm totally enchanted. And of course I meet a sad, bald dude in sunglasses and I'm a goner. This is just some main-plot adjacent freeform noodling while I work through the game and get to know the companions and the Mojave. Tags, relationships, and rating may change. Currently M for violence, language, and eventual smut. Gonna aim for not as explicit as I usually write but we'll see.
> 
> Bunny is nonbinary and uses they/them pronouns. Boone is a trans man. Gender stuff, gay stuff throughout. Mostly comes from personal experience and research, might not be everyone's cup of tea or meet exactly everyone's representation dreams and desires, but we all do gay and trans and nonbinary in our own ways. I hope you find something good here.
> 
> I'll put content warnings on the top of each chapter as needed. Not really gonna have this beta'd so it'll be rambly and random and full of spelling and grammar errors, and might have some retcon notes as things progress. Apologies in advance.

  
~~~

 

Novac is the first time Bunny sleeps in a bed in over six months. Discounting the bed they woke up in in Goodsprings, of course, but Bunny doesn’t really count that as sleep. More like waking up undead.

It’s nice to tumble onto a mattress. They bounce a little at the end of the fall, and roll onto their back, stare up at the water-stained ceiling. Their spine creaks as they let their muscles go group by group. After three days of running around greater Novac for Manny Vargas, talking to nonsense ghouls and Nightkin with a penchant for Stealth Boys, Bunny actually needs the rest.

At least Manny has finally come out with it. Benny was seen running north to a Boulder City with the Khans. Bunny just hopes the intel was worth the effort. They doubt Vargas understand just how much effort it took to launch a bunch of spiritually-crazed ghouls into space or flamethrower a bunch of mostly-invisible Nightkin into crispy bits. But that's all taken care of, isn't it? Except its not. Cuz there’s the widow, the night sniper who’s looking for a bit of revenge. Bunny's pretty sure he thinks it's Manny who sold his wife, but Bunny's not so sure. In fact they are actually  _very_ sure. They just need to kill some time.

Bunny checks the time on their pip-boy and reckons there’s another seven hours before he goes on duty.

Time’s gone all funny since getting a pip-boy. It ticks instead of slips, and Bunny has to remind themself not to check the clock more than once an hour, because it makes things go by real slow to always know what time it is. But there’s an alarm function that’s nice, because sleeping inside means their body won’t listen to the sun setting, nor wake them at midnight.

The bed smells of soap and mildew, not the familiar sun and sand of their sleeping pad, but Bunny spreads out their arms, chuckling when they realize they can just barely curl their fingers over either side of the mattress. “Queen size,” Jeannie May Crawford calls it. _Royalty size_ , Bunny thinks. Wonders why king size is bigger. And California kings are the biggest. Wonders if President Kimball sleeps on a California king, seeing as he’s sort of the king of California.

It’s a good joke. They should tell it to someone, some time.

Not a bad spot, really. The room. Novac in general. Some quiet, curious folk out this way. Easy town to slip into and out of. And it’s got a good mascot in that dinosaur. Makes it easy to spot out in the desert. Jeannie May says Bunny can stay till the busy season, but Bunny doesn’t think Jeannie May is gonna have much of a say by the time busy season rolls around…

These thoughts bounce through their head, but the mattress is too soft, softer than the ground, and soon, their thoughts turn to dreams filled with coyote yips and pyote.

Bunny jerks awake to a strange keening sound. They roll over, hands grasping for their 9mm but instead they find the funny round metal of the pip-boy shrieking at them like a wasteland bird at sunrise. Their fingers scramble on the half-familiar buttons to silence the alarm. The time is just before midnight.  

They hop out of bed, their limbs disjointed. Don’t bother to put on armor. Outside, the desert air greets them like an old friend, sweet and cool and dry. They taste it for a moment, leaning into the night as they watch, and wait. Down below, in the shadow of Dinky the Dinosaur, they watch Andy the Ranger limp back to his bungalow. Victor’s over in his corner, like he’s not following Bunny around the desert like a one-wheeled mad-bot. The securitron gives Bunny a shiver and the scar on their temple gives a twinge.

They look away. The night sniper ambles across the yard towards Dinky and disappears.

Bunny checks the pocket of their coat. Calloused fingertips brush the brittle paper folded inside. In the other pocket, the red hat with the NCR symbol on it--a beret, the night sniper had called it.

Down in the hotel lobby, Jeannie May greets Bunny with a tight smile. Bunny just kind of nods and does a circuit of the room when they realize they haven’t thought of a ready excuse to get her outside.

They cast around the room for inspiration, and their eyes light on the post box in the corner. An easy smile slides across their face. Always is nice, being a courier. Thing with delivering the mail is people trust you.

“Mojave Express HQ says they been thinking about moving that Mojave Express box,” they say.

Jeannie May’s glasses flash as she cocks her head, her broom still scraping across the rug. “Oh?”  

“Yah,” they say. “Better for business if it’s out where folks can see it. Can I show you where?”

Jeannie May frowns, but nods. “Lead the way.”

Bunny does as the night sniper had bid them, drawing the slaver back out into the violet dark. Above, the stars have their own view of things. Below, the sand hisses, caught in the wind.

Bunny slips on the hat--the red beret--as they round the dinosaur’s tail. “I was thinking we could put it h--”

A shot rings out, and Bunny turns and jumps away from the spray of crimson gore that used to be Jeannie May Crawford’s head. They stare at the mess on the ground for a few moments, the woman’s frail, crumpled frame sprawled out on the broken asphalt, her brains and bone fragments from her skull splattered artfully outward.

Bunny looks up at Dinky’s mouth. Sees the night sniper snug within its jaws, like another tooth. Bunny smiles and waves, but Boone steps back into the maw and vanishes.

Up in the mouth of the dino, Bunny offers Boone the beret, which he snatches back and fits over the close crop of his hair. Blond, or dirty brown, thinks Bunny. Can’t tell the color of his eyes from behind those tinted shades.

“How’d you know?” he asks.

Bunny fishes around in their coat pocket and hands over the bill of sale, watching the night sniper glances past his flat expression, into the bruise-dark night, the wink of stars and whistle of sand in the wind. “Found this in the late Ms. Crawford's safe.”

They offer Boone a small smile, but the sniper’s eyes are downcast, skimming the page. His mouth twists, red touching his ears and his cheeks. “Cheap bitch,” he mutters.

“Aren't you worried they're gonna know it was you?” Bunny asks. It’s a reasonable question, they think, given that Boone just shot off a Novac citizen’s head.

Boone grunts, tearing his eyes away from his wife’s bill of sale. Sort of reads like a certificate of death. He shakes his head. “No. People die out there, often enough no one worries about blame. They keep their heads down, just glad it wasn't them." Then he flashes a humorless, coyote smile, all teeth. "Besides, I was on break when it happened."

Bunny laughs, their shoulders shaking. The night sniper's funny after all. They wonder if he's got more than gallows humor in him.

For a moment they watch each other, and time seems to tick to a gentle stop. Boone's giving Bunny the eye, weighing and measuring how much girl and how much boy they are, maybe how much of neither and both a the same time, but not with confusion or judgement. Bland, a little knowing. There's that spark of recognition in his eye, a thread of relation. Knowing what it's like to have crossed those trench-lines that people born comfortable and at ease in their bodies and and their souls don’t even know exist. Bunny wonders if it's been easy for him. Now's not the time for asking, though. Instead Bunny blinks and look past Boone into the velvet-blue desert dark though they can still feel his eyes lingering, weighing them. The night wind whistles through the dino’s mouth, rattling its big, plaster teeth.

"So what now?" They ask, meeting his stony eyes again.

"There's no use stickin' around," he says. "I'll skip town for a while. Lay low. And by lay low, kill some Legion.”  

They raise an eyebrow and smile a bit but not too wide cuz Boone just got some closure on his wife and he’s probably feeling pretty sad.

“You wanna come with me? You know what they say. Two snipers are better that one.”

 The night sniper makes a thoughtful noise, and Bunny waits patiently as he scrutinizes them, measuring them to some standard only he knows. "Yeah..." he says at last. Holds out his hand. It's warm and calloused, and engulfs Bunny's own.

 

~~~

 

“Friend of yours?” Boone squints down the tracks at Victor as the bot bounces away on his single wheel, the New Vegas lights twinkling on the horizon, brighter than the stars. Somewhere in that mess of civilization is Fancy-Pants, but right now it’s just Bunny and Boone, and the desert. And Victor.

Bunny likes the desert at night. They like Boone too, but they aren’t so sure the feeling’s mutual. Guy doesn’t talk much. Eighty percent of his sentences are three words or less. Bunny counts the number of words in his latest question. ‘ _Friend of yours?’_ Yep, another three word-er.

“Yeah. That’s Victor,” Bunny admits with a little shudder. The bot gives them the creeps. He’s too friendly, his random encounters to _coincidental_ to actually be random _._ Not that the Mojave isn’t full of utter nonsense, but Victor’s nonsense is clearly of the contrived sort.

Boone frowns down at them. “Wasn’t it hanging around back in Novac?”

Bunny sniffs at the squirm in their gut. “I think he’s following me,” they admit.

“ _What_?”

It takes Bunny a few steps to notice that Boone’s planted his feet like a tree taking root.

“Yeah. He’s… around. And stuff. Says he’s not, but--”

“And you’re just… _letting him?_ ”

Bunny tilts their head, puffing out a breath of air to blow a strand of hair from their eyes. “I’m not _letting_ him do anything. I’m just trying to--”

“I mean, I could hit him from here--” Boone’s hand strays to his rifle, slung on his back, eyes locked on the horizon and Victor’s merrily bouncing trajectory down towards Freeside.

“No!” Bunny jumps forward, raising their arms. “Don’t! I--”

Boone stares down at them, his stony features cracked with surprise. He drops his hand away from his rifle and shrugs. “Suit yourself.” But the way he says it, full of judgement, makes Bunny scowl.

“Look, I’m not getting pushed around my some… _robot.”_ Bunny hesitates. They haven’t exactly kept their mission a secret from Boone, but it’s not like they’re sharing diaries or anything. Still, they don’t want Boone thinking that they’re letting a bot stalk them for no reason. Boon is already sceptical enough of their methods. Jokes on him. Bunny doesn’t have _methods._

“He saved my life.” Bunny presses their lips together at the admission, runs their hand over the stubble on the shaved side of their skull. “Dug me out of my grave.” They jab a finger at the scar on their temple. “Had a hole in my head, but apparently the brains were all still there. Or mostly, enough to keep me alive. I dunno anymore. And since I started chasing Mr. Checkers around the desert, Victor’s been there, following me around. But Benny wanted me dead, and Victor made sure I wasn’t so somehow he’s involved, and until I know how and why, Victory’s going to stay _un_ -sniped. And if anyone’s sniping _anyone_ involved in tryin’ to put a hole in my head, it’s gonna be me.” Bunny huffs as their words lose steam, winded from their speech. They drop their hands from where they’d planted them on their hips, flexing their fingers, heat in their cheeks.

Boone blinks at them. “Alright. I get wanting some answers. But you just say the word and it’s done.”

Bunny cracks a smile. A big one this time. “You’re a pal, Boone.”

But he frowns down at them. “Who the hell is Mr. Checkers?”

Bunny sights, and puffs another breath to chase away that bothersome flop of hair.

 

~~~

 

Bunny’s not a fan of Freeside. It’s stark and dirty and full of people who don't do _anything_. But there’s plenty of interesting stuff all the same. And a Followers base Bunny will have to visit. Later. Some time. When they feel like visiting Followers. Which is not tonight. Maybe not tomorrow, either. 

Tonight they try to get into the strip, and nearly have a heart attack when they see _Victor_ on the horizon. And not just Victor, but a man in what looks like… a suit. A real _nice_ suit.

They freeze, eyes wide. Take a step back.

 _No. No._ Benny’s at the Tops, on the strip. Not in Freeside. Fancy man like him, in this dump, hardly better than a refugee camp? 

Besides, Benny can’t be here, because Bunny’s not ready, and that's how things work. Bunny's gotta be ready. This isn’t the dramatic scene they’d pictured. They take a step forward, fumble for their binoculars. Behind them, Boone clears his throat, but Bunny ignores him. Not caring how much of a fool they look for breaking out binoculars in the middle of a settlement street like some sort of yokel.

The zoomed-in image resolves itself. A securitron, like Victor. But not. Just a regular guard with the mean police man face. And a man in a suit, but not a _checkered_ suit.

“Thank fuck,” Bunny whispers, stowing their binoculars.

“Victor again?” Boone is apparently not terrible at adding up the numbers.

Bunny shakes their head. “Did me a fright. Just security bots, and some random guy who looked kinda like Mr. Checkers. I’m gonna go see what kind of hell price they’re asking for people to get into the strip for these days.”

Boone grunts an alright. Follows along like a bored shadow, always at their eight no matter the position of the sun.

Bunny’s heart sinks when they hear the cost of entry. Two-thousand caps, or a passport. Well, Bunny didn't know what a 'passport' was, and they'd never  _seen_ two-thousand caps all in one place before, let alone  _had_ that much money on them. Sneaking in wasn't an option, considering the guy who'd be reduced to glittery ash just a bit ago. They stared at the gate a moment, trying not to feel  _too_ relieved that they couldn't go to the Strip just yet. It seemed scary, all those two-thousand-caps-having people with their nice clothes and their clean hair. But Mr. Checkers was in there too. And some answers.

They reconvene with Boone back well away from the entrance to the Strip. “Boy, when people said Vegas was expensive, they weren't kiddin'. We’re gonna have to merc it up for a bit." 

Boone shrugs. “Plenty of work to be had in Freeside.”

“Well, I’m far enough from two thousand caps that spending a few of the ones I _do_ have won’t help or hurt.” That was the thing about being poor. Takes caps to make caps. “You like vodka?”

“Not really.”

Bunny turns around, walking backward and wagging their head so the unshaved half of their hair flopped over their eyes. They rake it back, grinning. “Do you like _anything_?”

Boone huffs, the corner of his mouth tugging a little. Bunny narrows their eyes as the step over some rubble, still walking backwards.

“That was _almost_ a smile.”

The ghost of his almost-smile vanishes. “I like beer,” he says.

Bunny turns, almost stumbling over a fresh corpse taken out by one of the Freesider bodyguards a bit earlier. They skip over the body, eyes lighting on the rusty sign for the Atomic Wrangler a few blocks away.

The Wrangler is too full of interesting things to set down at a table right away, even though that’s exactly what Boone does. Bunny sniffs around, trades some heckles with a ghoul who thinks he's funny enough to get on stage, gets a few jobs--one really fun one about finding new escorts for the Wrangler--and then they a bottle of vodka and a hotel room key from Miss Garrett at the bar. Aks what the grumpy dude in the red beret had ordered--a boring old lager, it turns out--and orders one of those to boot.

“Come here often?” they say, bumping Boone's chair with their hip. 

Boone doesn’t even turn around, just shrugs those broad shoulders in what seems to be his automatic response to pretty much any question Bunny asks.

“Not in awhile,” he says.

Another three-worder. So _literal._ Bunny swings into a chair and slides the bottle of beer over to their taciturn companion.

“You drink that straight?” he asks, jutting his chin towards the bottle of vodka. _Four_ words this time. Wow. Bunny twists off the cap and pours a brimming shot.

“Yep,” they say and toss it back. Sputter at the bright burn of spirits and then smile at the warmth spreading through their chest. “You drink that razorgrain water without anything stronger to make it interesting?”

Boone takes a swing from his beer and sets it down. Empty. He picks up the one Bunny had brought him, taps the cap on the edge of the table with his fist so it hisses open.

“I like boring,” he says. He flips Bunny the cap. They grin and catch it. “For your entry fund,” he says.

Bunny pockets the cap and pours another drink, eyes roving the room, unable to come to rest on any one thing. The comedian is doing his bit, there's some escorts off in the corner chatting with potential clients. The din of the slot machines. It's enough to make their head spin. 

“You’re jumpy in town,” Boone says after a bit.

“I’m a desert kid,” Bunny says, their gaze falling on him. He cradles his beer, picking at the label with nervous fingers. “It’s quieter out there. Hard to choose what to look at and listen to when there’s so much chatter. But town’s interesting, too. Just… a lot.”

Boone nods thoughtfully. “Always thought so too. Novac’s more my speed.” Stone-faced, he takes another sip, and Bunny thinks back on what everyone back in Novac said about Carla. She liked the bright lights, the big city feel of the strip, the hustle-bustle of civilization. And yet Boone and her lived in the little backwater town. Bunny feels bad for him, truly. He’s stony, stoic to the point of brooding, but he must be hurting for his wife. Wandering the earth like a golem. Bunny can’t really fathom why an NCR veteran would be following someone like them around without promise of payment or payoff, except that he’s grieving and has nothing else to do. Probably helps that Bunny’s a decent sharpshooter, though. They make a good team. Sniper squad.

“Hey!” they say. “Wanna see something cool I found last time I came through Freeside?” The memory is fuzzy, like a lot of things that came _before_. Which is most things, Bunny realizes. Almost fun to experience them again. 

“Can I say no?” Boone watches them with flat eyes.

“You can _always_ say no.” Bunny hops up, the booze working its buzzy way into their limbs, making them feel loose and easy, like their smile. Despite his protests, Boone follows with his beer in his fist, and trails Bunny up the stairs, past the third floor. All the way up to a trap door.

“Hold this,” they say, thrusting the bottle at him, and then scramble up the ladder. A few moments later they’ve picked the lock and shove the door open with their shoulder, reach back down, snatch the vodka, and hop up onto the roof.

The air is hot and dead tonight, the dry heat slamming into them like a physical thing. Smells like dust and garbage, but not as bad as it is on the ground. They wait a few moments, but Boone doesn’t appear, so they poke their head down through the trapdoor. “What’s the holdup?”

“We’re gonna get booted if you pull stunts like this,” he says, looking wholly unimpressed with their daring.

“We’re only gonna get booted if we get caught. And we _will_ if you keep dithering down there like a wilting broc flower. C’mon!”

Boone glances around and then sighs and clambers up the ladder, his long limbs awkward on the short rungs. A moment later and he’s got his boots on the gravel rooftop and Bunny flips the trapdoor closed, making sure to catch it before it makes a bang.

“There.” They dust their hands, pleased by their boldness. The sun is just sinking to the west, rippling out with pinks and oranges, and to the east the sky is clear and collecting stars against the soft blue velvet. It’ll prove to be a glorious night. Freeside sprawls out below them, dim compared to the glow of the strip. Bunny does a circuit of the roof, hunting for glass treasure.

They find a pile of bottles in one corner. They found this spot last time they came through Vegas, on a less deadly delivery than trying to run the platinum chip. Got invited up to drink with some of the Kings, taking long cool swigs of Sunset Sarsaparilla.

They flash a grin at Boone and grab some bottles, setting them up on the west wall, so they’ll be shooting into the sun.

“Really,” Boone says, crossing his arms. “You want to shoot at bottles. On a roof. In the middle of a city.”

“Don’t trust your aim?”

“Don’t trust yours,” he retorts.

Bunny marches up to him, mock glaring. “You’ve been following me around for a week now. How many shots have you seen me miss.”

“Four,” Boone says, easy. “But I see you aiming for one bit and hitting another. Bottles are a lot smaller targets than radscorps. Like shooting at a wall verses shooting at a bottlecap.”  

“C’mon, don’t be stick in the quicksand.” Bunny pushes at Boone’s shoulders, trying to get him to backup a step but he doesn't budge. This close, they Bunny has to crane their neck to look up at him, towering a head above them. “Fine.” The huff and step away. “Stand in the middle of my firing range. I’ll just shoot around you.”

Boone grumbles and steps back. _Finally._ Just Bunny’s luck to score a companion with no sense of fun.

The bottles gleam in the setting sun, and Bunny cocks their pistol, takes aim. A bottle shatters. They take a breath, and squeeze the trigger. Another bottle, and then two more.

Boone huffs, takes a slow sip of his beer.

“You wanna go, big guy?” Bunny waggles their eyebrows at him.

“Not enough range for my rifle,” he grunts.

Bunny waves their handgun at him. “Not too good for a sidearm, are you?”

“I’ll do,” he says after a moment’s consideration, and accepted the gun.

Bunny goes and set up some new targets and hurries back to safety. Boone tests the 9mm sights a few times and then fires of five quick shots, each bottle shattering so quickly it sounds like one continued noise under the pop of the gunshots.

“Every time you miss, you gotta take a drink,” Bunny says, waving the vodka bottle at him.

“Alright,” he says.

The next round, Bunny misses a bottle. They take a swig. Boone doesn’t miss any his next round. Bunny misses another. They pass the pistol back and forth, but Bunny ends up keeping the bottle until there’s only one clip left. Boone’s about to fire off a round when Bunny hears something. Voices, just below them.

_“--fuck was that?”  
_

_“Think it’s coming from the roof…”_

_“Fuckin’ Kings again.”_

Bunny swears and grabs Boone’s arm. “They’re comin’ to investigate,” they hiss. “This way.”

Happened last time too. They bolt towards the edge of the roof and run along the edge. There’s a lip that runs around the building, and some eaves with enough room to sit comfortably. Bunny turns and slithers down over the ledge, dangling by their fingers until they drop onto the gable, staggering a little as their drunken knees betrary them. Boone lands behind them with hardly a thud. He’s quiet for someone so big, but then again, a sniper’s gotta be quiet. Last thing you never see coming, and all.

They press back against the wall, shoulder to shoulder, and listen as the voices above them come closer.

_“Fuckin’ trap door was unlocked again. I swear these kids--”_

Bunny stifles a laugh as Boone glares down at them. The voices pass and then fade. Idiots never look down.

The trap door bangs shut again and Bunny sighs in relief. “Close one,” they whisper. Boone’s still glaring at them, but Bunny’s already reaching for the lip of the roof. It’s out of their reach by a few inches.

“Shit,” they whisper.

“Here,” Boone says, a hand on their shoulder. “Give you a boost... Short stuff.” There’s another ghost of a smirk, and Bunny huffs, but accepts the offer, putting their boot in his laced hands. They hardly have to climb at all as Boone boosts them up over the lip and back onto the gravel. Bunny leans back over to offer him a hand, but he’s already climbing up on his own.

“Okay, maybe time to call it quits on the firing range,” Bunny says, dusting their hands on their jeans.

“Probably wise. Probably dumb to have done it at all.”

Bunny scoffs, and strides back over to the trap door. Tugs upwards. It doesn’t budge. There’s no latch, or release on the handle.

“Uh…”

“ _What_?” snaps Boone.

“I think they locked it.”

They turn to see his head cradled in his hand, fingers pressing at the corners of his eyes, under his sunglasses.

Bunny toes the door, frowning. “No outside lock. It was a padlock.” They look up, out at the night which is now fully splendid with stars and the thumbnail of a moon. “We’re only four stories up. Maybe we can even just sneak in through an open window so Miss Garrett don’t charge us again for coming back through the front door.”

Boone groans and drops his hand. Bunny grins at him and finds their bottle of vodka. “But let’s not go in just yet. The night is nice, and there’s some good star-watching.”

They find a spot settle with their back to Vegas so the city lights don’t muddy the view.

“Mama always said there’s stories in the sky,” Bunny says, cradling the bottle of spirits to their chest as they tilt their head up. Boone watches them for a moment before glancing upwards. He looms like an awkward giant, and Bunny sees him wavering.

“C’mon,” they say. They put a hush in their voice, the way mama used to do when luring kids over to the fire to tell stories. “Set down a while. We got a lot to do, so I say take you grab a moment when you can to enjoy somethin’.”

Boone does his put-upon sighing thing, but settles down next to Bunny in the end. Not too close, just near enough that Bunny can see the corner of his eye and the twist of his mouth.

“What kind of stories?” he asks after a while.

Bunny smiles. “All kinds. Tricky critters. Vain adventurers. How the stars got there. Why seeds grow.”

“Why seeds grow?”

“Yep,” they say. “That’s a good one.” They scanned the sky, looking for the Ant and the Corn, found the smattering of seed-stars and the two triangles that made up the constellation.

“There,” they pointed up, and Boone followed their finger, shifting closer. “The three bright stars form a triangle. Fainter ones, another. And all the little stars around? Those are seeds. Corn kernels to be exact.”

“Uh huh. Seeds.”

“Hey, I don’t make up the stories. Or the constellations.”

“Okay,” he says. “Sorry.”

“Okay. So the triangles are an ant, right? There’s an ancient legend about how an old god first carried seeds over the mountains, so early peoples could learn to grow plants instead of just searching for them scattered across the earth. The god-ant brought corn. And so the people grew corn. And ate it. Did lots with corn. It was all around a good time.”

“Okay,” Boone says again. “So the god was a giant ant.”

“No, the god was a normal sized ant. Giant ants didn’t exist before the war.”

“And neither did corn?”

“No, it did. But then the world ended, and the earth got poisoned, and now the corn doesn’t grow as well. So some tribes down in Mexico--that’s where my mama’s from, _ella era de Baja_ \--now they’re waiting for a giant ant to bring them some mutant corn, so it’ll grow better. So that’s the giant ant and corn kernel constellation story.”

“You’re not very good at this,” Boone said. “This storytelling. Thing.”

Bunny turned to him, their mouth dropping open. He’s not wrong, though. Mama always did tell the stories from the sky better than Bunny. Bunny always gets things a bit muddied. But it’s still rude. “And what kinda stories do _you_ tell?”

“Not disjointed ones about corn-delivering not-giant triangle god-ants.”

Bunny snored. “Go head then.” They took a another pull from their bottle, and Boone held out his hand. For a moment, Bunny considered holding on to it just to be petulant. _So_ rude, to ask for a drink after insulting the bottle-holder. But that deadpan stare from behind his sunglasses made Bunny grin and pass him the bottle.

“Alright. Uh. Ah--” he takes a long pull from the bottle and chokes a little, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. He cleared his throat. “See that… squiggle of stars there?”

Bunny squints, following the finger he’s jabbed at the sky. “A squiggle of stars? Is that the technical term?”

“Yeah. That’s the Divide. And the thing above it?”

“The four bright stars? Yah, I see it.”

“That’s the Deathclaw that made it.”

Bunny snorted. “A deathclaw made the Divide?”

“It was a really big one.The rads made them huge back right after the war. Anyway, this kid wanted to feed his family, right? Sso he stole a deathclaw egg. But the beast chased the boy into some caves. The boy went deep underground, following tunnels he knew would keep him safe." 

His voice is low and rumbly, almost intoning as his story builds momentum. “But the Deathclaw wouldn’t give up the egg. She dug... and dug, following the boy as he wound his way under the earth with her egg. Until at last there was a trench _so_ deep and _so_ long that it had made cliffs. The boy had no hope of escape. So he made a deal with the deathclaw. Said that if he gave back her, he could go free. But if a human stole an egg, ever again, deathclaw would rampage any human in her path. The boy agreed, but added this: if the human _returned_ the egg, it would pacify the deathclaw. And that’s how a deathclaw dug the divide. And how if you manage to give an egg _back_ to a deathclaw... it’ll leave you the fuck alone.”

Bunny sits quietly, and Boone doesn’t say anything, just takes another swig from the bottle and passes it back. Bunny takes an absent sip themself, and chews thoughtfully on Boone’s story. The Divide… that’s how their mama got them to the Mojave. Didn’t say anything about deathclaws, though. Probably bullshit.

“That was a pretty good story,” Bunny says, eyes tracing the squiggle of stars. "You made it up, like, just now. But it was pretty good."

Next to them, Boone shrugs.

After a bit more quiet and slightly more companionable bottle passing and some daring-do roof dangling and ledge-edging, they manage to sneak back into the Wrangler through an open window on the third floor. And Bunny’s proud that they only needs one boost. The room reeks of booze and there’s a snoring lump on the bed, but Bunny hardly gives them a glance as they wobble along, walking toe-to-heel on drunk feet. Boone moves so quietly behind them that they forget he’s there until the door whispers shut. It’s only after that Bunny realizes they should have gone rifling through the passed-out sod’s stuff, just to teach the sucker a lesson about sleeping with the window open. You especially don’t sleep with your window open in _Freeside._

As soon as they’re back in the room, Bunny digs through their bag for that funky animal-print loungewear set they bought at Mic & Ralph's and strips down to their skivvies. The fabric is chemical-clean but it hardly registers through the drunk haze. Without a thought they wriggle free of their binder and pull on the pjs. Silky-soft against their sink. It's only when Boone clears his throat that they realize he might be uncomfortable. People have told Bunny that getting undressed around other people out in the bush is a bit different than sharing a room and doing the same thing. But Bunny had definitely see Boone's ass the other day when he was taking a piss, and he's seen Bunny with nothing on but their binder when they took a bird-bath with some extra water rations they'd found a few nights later, so Bunny isn't sure what the difference is. 

"You wouldn't begrudge a weary traveler their new PJs, now would you?" they slur, turning to grin blearily at him. 

His ears are red, and Bunny snickers and falls into their royalty-sized bed, not bothering to get under the blankets in the dead heat. Second time in a week they’ve had a real mattress. Maybe getting shot in the head means they're movin' up in the world.

“Wasted a lot of caps tonight,” Boone says as he settles on the sofa. “Gonna have to replenish that ammo.”

“It was fun though, right?” Their speech buzzes, their mouth sticky with booze and dust. 

There’s a long quiet, and Bunny’s ears hum with the sound of their own pulse. They almost forget they’ve asked Boone a question when he grunts as he shifts on the sofa.

“Yeah. Kinda fun.”

“There you go with the three word sentences again,” Bunny mumbles. "You can sleep on the bed...you know. It's big..." they yawn. "Big enough for the King. Of California."

Boone says something else, but Bunny's fading so fast they don’t quite catch his words before sleep takes them like a curtain closing none-too-soon on that old ghoul’s bad standup routine.

 

~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stargazing inspired by thewickedkat's gay BoS ladies ficlet, _...Only Stars._  
>  A must read: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12780678 
> 
> Bunny's ant-and-corn story inspired by the Mexican myth: https://www.inside-mexico.com/the-legend-of-maize/
> 
> Comments and kudos are the fancy lads that fuel my writing and are so, so appreciated.  
> I'm on the tumbles at https://probably-a-synth.tumblr.com/


	2. Pennies On My Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RETCON: Bunny has never been to the Strip.
> 
> Freeform is so fun I can just write whatever I want and not worry about the future my spirit has been Freed. Thank you for wonderful comments and enthusiasm! Bunny is so fun to write and I look forward to sharing more of them with you.

~~~

 

Freeside doesn’t bleed caps. More like a trickle. From a paper cut.

It bleeds other things though. Like literal blood. Thug blood. Most times Bunny doesn't even have time to draw their pistol when someone runs at them with a shiv or a tire iron. The gun gets halfway free of its holster and the thug’s already down with a hole in their head. Behind them, Boone grunts some sort of satisfied two-word sentence or another: “ _All mine,”_ or _“Gotcha,”_ or whatever tough-guy nonsense. In return, Bunny grins and loots the corpse and say “ _thanks Boone,”_ and Boone just shrugs or mutters that he’s got Bunny’s back. He never walks next to them. Holds the rear position like he’s their bodyguard, and even though they don’t _need_ a bodyguard it makes Bunny feel important. Having Boone at their back makes people who’d normally ignore Bunny or brush past them get out of their way. In a hurry.

Bunny counts the caps every night, and finds they’re barely breaking even. The caps add up slow and bleed out real fast. They gotta pay for the room at the Wrangler, for food, and booze, cuz there’s no hunting and the NCR has a deathgrip on supplies. Bunny buys a jacket for Boone because he’s an idiot for wandering around in that dirty old t-shirt and starts to complain about not having any armor when one of the thugs lands a straight razor slice across his bicep. And Bunny buys new .22 pistol that they like to imagine aiming at Mr. Checker’s temple like the son-of-a-dingo aimed his shinly 9mm at their's, all trussed up and kneeling on the edge of their unwittingly temporary grave.

And all the time, Bunny watches the gate to the Strip from the corner of their eye. The securitrons loom, and the lights flash beyond the wall, like strobes meant to dazzle and confuse, too close to be stars, and they really, really don’t want to go inside. Good thing they’re still about nine-hundred caps short a credit check. Whatever _credit_ means. Some kind of abstract barter _thing_ . They get the caps _back_ , apparently. Just making sure they have _enough._ As if you have to have _enough_ of anything to go a place.   


 

~~~  


 

“I don’t understand,” Bunny says. “How can you buy a _name?_ If someone gave me caps for the name Bunny I’d take the caps and they could have Bunny and I’d still be Bunny. Cassidy is still Cass.”

Perched up on the ridge above the road north from the Mojave Outpost, Bunny and Boone take lazy shots at the critters down in the gully. Bunny peers through the scope of their varmint rifle, hoping that it’ll hold together for another few rounds before they have to take it apart and replace some odds and ends. They take a deep breath, hold it, and watch the queen ant shuffle forward, aiming for where her head is going to be in just half a second.

Squeeze the trigger, crack of a shot. They watch for a few seconds, grinning as the queen goes down, minus one twitchy-antenna’d head, and looks up at Boone. He’s wearing that bland expression he dons once in a while, eyebrows raised slightly and head tipped back like he’s measuring something that has no mass or form but is none the less weighable to him. Bunny’s starting to suspect that’s the face he wears when he’s impressed, so they grin at him, trying to goad more. Make him crack a bit.

He looks away, eyes drifting back to the gully and roving over the landscape like he’s about to sit down at a canvas and paint it. Bunny’s gotta admit they are more than a little jealous of his spotter’s eye. Bunny’s been a desert scout for a long time now, but Boone’s got an attention to detail than Bunny, who’s drawn more to the expansive lure of exploration.

“You don’t know how caps work,” Boone says after he takes his next shot. Bunny’s almost forgotten they were talking about caps at all, and their mind races back to the conundrum of names for sale and credit as buying not-stuff without actually paying for it. That’s the way conversation with Boone works. Bunny thinks out loud for a while and then they get distracted, leaning into the silence of work. And then Boone picks up the thread again, like the silence is not full of forgetting but full of him chewing on what Bunny had been rambling on about those few minutes before.  

“Growing up, we traded things. Offered services for shelter and supplies. Didn’t need many caps.”

Boone goes quiet again and Bunny lets him chew, content to take a few more lazy shots at the geckos up on the far bluff, watching them puff their frills and scream as they run in frantic circles, trying to find their aggressors. Safe on the other side of the highway gluch, and the two of them pop the critters off without them any the wiser to their nest up on the opposite rise.

“Tribal?” Boon asks as the last gecko slumps to the ground with a shrill scream.

Bunny shakes their head. “Nope. Raised up with the Followers.”

Boone looks away from their NCR-assigned target practice, his face cracked with surprise. It’s a look Bunny’s used to and they grin and kick to their feet, start the quick scramble down the ledge into the highway gully. Time to go harvest the ant and gecko meet.

Boone follows along, dropping down beside them. “What was _that_ like?” There’s a hint of judgement that Bunny’s used to when folks find out they’re Follower affiliation. Not that they had a choice, at first. First things they remember are Mama and the tents, wandering, meeting settlers and strangers lean and desperate for comfort and knowledge and wellness.  

“It was nice. Never needed much. Mama raised us all, taught us history and reading, how to survive, and to do the looking after of others. Took in kids with nothin’, back in California. The whole camp migrated here to the Mojave for a while.”

“You’re not a Follower anymore, though. You’re a courier.”

Bunny frowns. It’s fuzzy, those days. Both what they were and why they left. To wild, Mama said. She said Bunny was a free spirit, needed the wide-open. Free to leave. And free to come home.

“Mama’s people left back for California as the Legion rose up here. Afraid for the kids. But…” Their eyes roam the stony, rucked up landscape, the sun heavy and the heat near blistering, and they want to spread their arms out and soak into the land like it’s part of their skin, or they are part of the land’s. “Been comin’ and going from the Followers for a few years by then. Dunno why, really but I stayed behind. Did some prospecting. Got good at fixin’ things, doing some scouting. Then got the courier job.”

Boone nods. “Smart move, going back.” There’s a growl in his voce. “Shoulda up and moved me n’ Carla back to California when the bastards started gaining power.”

First time Boone’s said Carla’s name since Bunny met him. They try and think of something to say but can’t quite wrap their head around what it’s like, losing someone so loved. Bunny knows there’s people it would hurt for them to lose, like Mama who raised them, or Julie with whom they’d shared a first kiss. But all that’s far away and it’s been a long time Bunny’s been alone now, and love’s like caps to them, sometimes. You do it when you believe in it, and that’s what makes it real. Otherwise it’s just this thing that people have. 

But Boone changes the subject for them both. “That why you keep avoiding the Follower’s camp in Freeside? Because you’re not one of them anymore?”

Bunny freezes, their knife buried in the ant queen’s thorax. Boone’s smiling a little and he looks smug, like he’s solved a bit of a puzzle or found out a secret, or he’s challenging them. Which is odd to Bunny, because there’s no puzzle to them at all. All anyone has to do is ask--they keep no secrets.

“ _Anyway,_ ” they say, irritation flashing and fizzling quick as a flash of lighting, leaving a buzz of nervous energy in its wake. “We gotta convince Cass to come back to Freeside with us, when we collect the caps from Crimson Caravan. Since apparently selling her name means she’s got no responsibility anymore. You think if I sell my name I won’t have to deal with Mr. Checkers or go to the Strip at all?”

“Doubt it,” Boone grunts, flipping one of the geckos belly up. They work in silence for a while longer and head up the hill, loaded down with meat they can trade for stims and caps. Barter at least, Bunny understands. “By your logic, you’d still be you. And still have all your problems.”

Bunny huffs as their eyes fall on the tall-as-ten-deathclaws monument of the Ranger shaking hands with the NCR commander. It feels like a sign, a portent of things to come should the NCR make their push. Doesn’t trouble Bunny either way, but then, that’s the thing with sings. You can see ‘em but don’t have to believe ‘em. Signs don’t mean much without the people believing in them enough to act on ‘em. Like caps. If nobody believed caps were worth anything, they wouldn’t have worth.

And then Bunny could just walk into the Strip, none of this caps-making business needed.

“You know,” Boone says. “You don’t have to find this Benny guy if you don’t want to. All seems complicated.”

“I do gotta find him. Get that dumb chip thingy everyone’s so hot for, and give over to whoever on the Strip hired me to deliver, so my contract’s good and done. Then I can go back to bein’ the the good old fashioned postal worker I was born to be.” Bunny looks up at Boone, imitating his mild, measuring look with a little bit of their own grin thrown in. “Besides, who doesn't love a bit of good old fashioned revenge?”

Boone barks a laugh. It’s a bitter one, but satisfied, like Bunny’s answer’s a good one.

They smile up at him, a spring in their step as they climb the hill. “And I can’t help but be thinkn’ about that son-of-a-dingo’s face when he sees me still kickin’.”  


 

~~~

  


Back in Freeside, and Bunny can’t avoid the Old Mormon Fort forever. Besides, the King’s asked for their help to make a bit of peace, and Bunny likes the King. He’s cute as hell, and he cares about his people, and has a real nice dog in Rex. People who have nice dogs can’t be all bad, right? And he’s gonna pay them what he can. On top of the caps from the Crimson Caravan work, Bunny’s so close those two-thousand caps they need for getting past the gate that they just need that little boost, and the Followers have the work. The _only_ work in Freeside. Apparently.

Besides, Boone’s comment about avoiding the Followers still itches at them. He’s _right,_ but Bunny doesn’t want him to _know_ he’s got their measure.

So they push through the gates, and their chest ripples with _feeling_ . The grimy white tents, the docs and the crates of supplies. Quiet spaces for study and reflection. A peace washes over them, like arms wrapping around their shoulders and whispering _conejito, little Bunny, welcome home._ Almost like Mama is gonna be in one of those tents, wrapped up in her bright and stripy poncho, teaching all her kids to read, showing them desert plants for eating and for healing. It’s all fuzzy though, like peering through a crack at something that’s not theirs anymore. Their head starts to hurt a little as they frown at the feeling.

Longing, homesick. _Conejito, little--_

“ _Bunny?”_

Bunny freezes at the sound of their name. It’s not always good to be known. Someone calling out to them makes their heart skip as they turn, real slow, to see who it is.

Their mouth falls open, mind reeling a little as they drink in the sight of their old friend. First girl Bunny ever kissed.

“As I live and breathe, it’s Julie Farkas.”

Julie’s older now, not the shy, gangly teenager that came in and out of Mama’s camp. A handful of years gone and she’s still gentle and warm-eyed with something melancholy about her person Bunny’s never quite been able to place. But she’s also got an edgy new haircut and she’s shrouded with the mantle of a Follower, what with the lab coat with the cross patch on her shoulder, and the clipboard and the air of deep and calm concern.

They face off awkwardly for a moment, Bunny wavering between running and laughing, and then Julie smiles and pulls them into a hug and Bunny leans into her, arms still at their side. Sweet Julie, always giving herself away.

“That NCR fellow with you?” Julie steps away and nods towards Boone, who’s lurking within earshot, very obviously pretending not to watch. After a moment of what looks like deep consideration his posture softens and he nods at the two of them.

“Yep. That’s my pal Boone He’s not NCR, though. Not anymore. He’s helping me out with some stuff. And things. Watching my back.”

Julie offers Boone a smile, her eyes lingering like she’s taking his measure, and then turns that same look on Bunny. “The last I heard from Mama, you’d taken up being a courier. That was what, three years ago?”

Bunny nods, doesn’t miss how Julie’s eyes go wide as she sees the fresh scar running across their temple. “Yep. Just a regular old postal worker,” they say, ignoring her stare. “Doing my duty to the Mojave. You think it’d make me better at keepin’ in touch...”

Julie’s smile fades and her brows knit together with concern as her eyes land on the scar across Bunny’s temple. “What happened to your head?”

Bunny shrugs their shoulders. “Got deep into some game I don’t quite get, yet. Some fancy New Vegas type in a checkered suit stole my parcel and shot me in the head. Missed the important bits, I reckon, cuz I’m still here.”

Julie’s eyes go wide. “Bunny…”

Bunny shrugs again, their shoulders jerking like their tied to strings. Eyes roving around the neat rows of tents, they smile. _Home_. Once home. Then they look at Julie, soft and sweet and determined and their heart sort of breaks for all the things they didn’t say.

“You haven’t changed a bit, Julie. Still chasing the world-peace dream.”

Julie shakes her head, her razor’s hair hardly flopping at all with all the pomade she’s got in it to keep it stiff. Her eyes skim over the rifle slung over Bunny’s shoulder, the knife and the silenced .22 pistol they carry at their side. “You have no idea. I’ve seen some bad things, Bunny.” The melancholy settles back in her eyes, and her head tilts. “What are you doing in Freeside?”

Bunny taps the scar on their head. “Making caps, so I can go to the strip to shoot the guy who shot me.”

“I know a good doc that can take a look at your head… Let’s go to my office and catch up, okay?” Julie casts a look around the camp and waves to a fair skinned  science-looking doctor-y man with the blondest, most perfectly combed hair Bunny has ever seen. “Arcade! I’ve got a friend here who wants to talk to you!” Julie calls. Arcade raises his eyebrows waves back, drops his book and heads their way.

Bunny glances back at Boone.

“You go on,” he says. “I’ll sit tight.”

 

~~~


	3. Crosses On My Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever since I saw [this comic](http://syntheticcathedral.tumblr.com/post/156885683525/wow-cant-believe-craig-boone-is-canonically-trans%20) I can't get it out of my head that Boone is trans... So. He's trans. I'm excited to explore a trans/trans relationship. I’ll give a heads up at the start of chapters if there’s dysphoria or feels around trans-ness and what kind of language I’ll be using for bodies. If anyone wants specific warning, let me know in the comments. I won't have any trans-trauma in this fic, besides the usual body anxiety that crops up sometimes, mostly for Bunny.
> 
> RETCON: Added a little part in the first chapter for future readers about a moment of recognition between the two of them about their gender things:  
>  _For a moment they watch each other, and time seems to tick to a gentle stop. Boone's giving Bunny the eye, weighing and measuring how much girl and how much boy they are, maybe how much of neither and both a the same time, but not with confusion or judgement. Bland, a little knowing. There's that spark of recognition in his eye, a thread of relation. Knowing what it's like to have crossed those trench-lines that people born comfortable and at ease in their bodies and and their souls don’t even know exist. Bunny wonders if it's been easy for him. Now's not the time for asking, though. Instead Bunny blinks and look past Boone into the velvet-blue desert dark though they can still feel his eyes lingering, weighing them. The night wind whistles through the dino’s mouth, rattling its big, plaster teeth._
> 
> And again apologies but this tweaking/mid-fic development thing will probably keep happening as things progress, bad habit of mine. If that sort of thing bothers you, warning you now so you can turn back or just kind of go with my chaotic flow.
> 
> WARNING for Boone backstory and Legion spoilers, and some angst/arguments.

 

~~~

  
  


There’s a whole mess of things Bunny doesn’t expect to happen when they get to the Strip.

Like how it feels to be among all the Vegas lights they’ve been staring at since they got the job that landed a hole in their head. All the flash and glitter is overwhelming, sure. Bunny expected it to be. But they sort of  _ like  _ it. Can’t help how their eyes go wide as they drink it all in, all the glitter flashing like stars in their vision, only these stars are so close they can almost touch them. Might just need a ladder. 

They don’t expect to feel like such a hayseed either, with their ratty clothes and unwashed fan of hair, shaved down on the sides, their clay-brown skin streaked with dust. Normally their clothes are their clothes. Dresses, pants, armor. Anything goes but it’s always dusty an eclectic, but they look down at the ratty pink hoodie and their cargo pants and moto-boots and feel a rush of embarrassment amid all the finley dressed folks in their suits and skirts, all set to gamble away their fortunes so all the’ve got is the dandy clothes to cover their capless asses.  

Bunny doesn’t expect Mr. House, either. ‘Course, who would have? They don’t like the machine-man, not one bit, with his flat green face and the voice that echoes all around, dripping condensention like Bunny’s some stupid yokel and he’s got to dumb himself down so they can comprehend his genius. Everything about him makes their skin crawl, in the same way Victor makes Bunny back away real slow when he meets them at the gate. Too friendly,  _ much _ too friendly, like Mr. House is much too slick, with his shock-and-awe invite up his old ivory tower and the fancy new stable where Bunny’s allowed to hang up their hat. Says they can invite their friends too. Which means Boone. And Cass, if she wants. Arcade, too. 

And they’re surprised at Boone’s slack-jawed expression when they hit the flashing front steps of the Luck 38, too. Watching Bunny with something that’s  _ not  _ impressed and  _ not  _ judging. 

“You’re trouble,” Boone says as Bunny takes a few numb steps down into the packed thoroughfare. There’s accusation in his voice. 

“Never said I wasn’t,” they say vaguely, mind chewing on the new pieces of the game they’ve got to try and find the rules for. Thing is, Bunny’s never been too good at games or rules. They like to keep things simple. And Vegas? Furthest thing from simple.

And when Bunny meets Benny, they  _ like  _ him. They don’t see that coming, either. He’s a keen-eyed and clever idiot if Bunny ever met one, though they aren’t sure if they’ve ever met someone like Benny. But Bunny can tell he’s scared. In over his head. No matter how many times he says  _ ring-a-ding. _

Whatever  _ that  _ means. Bunny doesn’t ask. 

And then there’s the wheeling and the dealing Benny tries to do, sending Bunny’s head to spinning. They’d never had to  _ think  _ so much about games in their whole life, and they don’t want to start now. NCR, Caesar's Legion, the Three Families. Mr. House. 

And then there’s some hitmen, and Boone takes a beating because he’s caught without his rifle. It’s a mess, really. And then there is the most helpful and precious robot Bunny’s ever met.

It’s Yes Man who helps Bunny truly understand. It’s not any one person who’s got control of the game they’re now playing. Sure, folks are shuffling their favorite cards into their over-stacked Caravan decks, but it’s whoever holds the chip who holds the winning hand.

Not that Bunny wants to  _ win  _ anything. It’s just that they just want Mr. House and Benny to  _ lose.  _

  
  


~~~

  
  


“You’re using just one xander root for two boc flowers, right?”

Bunny studies the rail thin, hollow-eyed and hollow-cheeked woman before her. She’s got brown-black skin tinged with gray and Bunny can’t tell if her pallor is from grime or or from malnourishment, and decides it’s both. Their heart wrenches and their brows snap down. And they decide that Siri must be freed. 

Why Siri, and not the other slaves, Bunny doesn’t question, but later they might reflect that it was something of a token gesture. A promise. A threat to the Legion. A test.

Bunny has to do  _ something. _

Siri’s eyes light up, deep and brown and Bunny smiles. She’s not broken. “This means I can double the supply of healing powder!”

Bunny balances at that. _ Oops. _ Helping slaves be better at their jobs helps the Legion. More healing means harding killing, but then, that’s just a minor detail. And should be moot soon.

Bunny hides their unease with a smile. Glances around to find them alone at the bar where Siri works. “Are you always here?” Siri’s eyes grow suspicious, and Bunny rushes on. “I got knowledge,” they say quickly. “The Followers taught me some medicine. Learned other stuff in the desert.” 

The suspicion snuffs out and Siri’s face lights up again. “I’m here until the sun rises.” 

Bunny nods, glances at their pip-boy. Seven hours. 

  
  


~~~

  
  


“You can close your eyes, if you want.”

Bunny has Benny’s gun leveled at his temple. There’s no fear registering in his eyes. Resigned maybe, like he knew it was always gonna end this way. Bound, on his knees in a Legion tent with an undead mail courier pointing his own gun at his head. Bunny wants to set him free, show some mercy, take control of the game, but they’ve only got three stealth-boys, and those belong to Siri. 

“Nah,” Benny says, his smile hanging crooked. “I’d rather see it comin’. Make it clean, baby.”

Bunny wants to close their own eyes, but clean means seeing clearly. 

So they grip Maria tighter in their hand, and for a moment they’re back kneeling on the edge of a shallow grave. Through the temple, do what Benny couldn’t. 

They don’t hear the shot, just see the bright flare of discharge and feel the kickback reverberate through their arm. Benny slumps. Again. Again. Not making the same mistake Benny’d made when he’d done them the same turn. The third the shot rings in their ears, on and on, and the gore is mostly white bone and pink brain because the red carpet soaks up the blood. 

Maybe that’s why the Legion loves their crimson. 

Bunny backs way, tucking the pistol away to hide their shaking hands. The Legion praises their vengeance, not realizing it’s simple mercy. Otherwise it’s the cross, or the arena. Vulpes’s long fox smile burns into their mind. Caesar speaks of conquest and victory to the West, and below, the Protectrons bely the Legion’s posturing,  poised to march.

Caesar is like Mr. House in his way. A towering intellect, talking to Bunny like they’ve never read a book in their entire life. Like they can’t read and can’t learn, like they’re incapable of all manner of knowing things. 

He used to be a Follower.

The platinum chip rides in their pocket now, Mr. Checkers is dead and they have answers that bleed more questions. And Caesar was a follower. 

And then there’s Siri. 

  
  


~~~

  
  


Siri huddles under Bunny’s seat on the barge, Bunny’s backpack placed strategically so Lanius won’t accidentally bump into her invisible form. The woman’s hand clenches around Bunny’s ankle and they feel her tremble, so Bunny hums a little song, one Mama used to sing. The lyrics are gone, mostly, just little words-- _ las estrellas...a salir--no llora--mm mm mm mm Pin Pon-- _

Mister  Lucullus  looks back and Bunny with a scowl. “Quiet,” he hisses. “Do you not know that sound carries far across the water?”

“I’m a desert kid,” Bunny replies, peering down into the dark river, the surface seeming to suck in the light instead of reflecting any back. “I don’t know nothin’.” They lean down, trail their fingers through the chill water. Act natural. Act relaxed. Act dumb. That’s what the Legion expects from someone like Bunny. Not girl, but not boy enough. Never enough. Just some dumb courier hick profligate who’s got lucky enough to get a face to face meeting with Mr. Caesar Salad Dressing and survive the ordeal. 

On the far side, Cottonwood Cove swallows them. Siri’s got a grip on the back strap of Bunny’s armor, and the barge is stable enough that there’s no extra rocking as they depart. Up the hill, and Bunny drags Siri into the brush as she reappears, the last stealth-boy giving up the ghost. 

No doubt Caesar has his spies following them. Time to vanish, let the desert swallow them up. Siri’s got tears in her eyes, she’s shaking, and Bunny hugs her, gives her water and a Fancy Lad and they both take some rad-x. Bunny takes Siri’s hand and plunges them into the irradiated fog, towards the NCR camp across the ghoul-swarmed bridge. From there they’ll head to Freeside, to the Followers.

And a horrible thought chases Bunny the whole way:  _ Caesar was a Follower. Caesar, a Follower. Caesar was a Follower.  _ The words play sing-song in their head, to the tune of Mama’s lullaby, and the image of a field of spread-eagle crucifictions stand in mockery of the Followers’ symbolic cross.  
  


~~~

  
  


“You  _ what _ ?” Boone glares at Bunny, arms crossed. Bunny glares back, crosses their arms in turn. “And you didn’t bring me? I came with you to kill some Legion, and you leave me here while you  _ have a chat  _ with them?”

Bunny shakes their head, scowling. “You ever heard of  _ recon _ , Boone? Probably, seeing as you were  _ First  _ Recon, before. You think you ‘n me could take on all of Fortification Hill? You think I could do what needed doing with you trying to suicide yourself on a Legion machete?”

Boone snaps his mouth shut, glares out the window of the Lucky 38 observatory instead of looking at Bunny. The lounge is filled with yellow sunlight, old motes of dust cascading happily through the gentle breeze caused by working vents. 

Nearby, ED-E--Bunny’s new eyebot friend they finally fixed on their way through Primm--boops around sweetly, oblivious to the argument and Cass sits at the bar, pretending not to listen while she nurses a whiskey. No Arcade though. He’s taking Siri to some Doc Usanagi for trauma therapies. 

Bunny sighs. “They told me things. Want me on their side. I got a look at their methods, their resources. Their...slaves.”

Boone jerks at the word, and Bunny feels bad, but it’s a word they want him to hear, trying to snap him out of his temper tantrum. 

“Fine,” says Boone. Paces away. “I hope you know what you’re doing.” He mutters like he doesn’t want Bunny to hear him. 

Bunny sighs, laces their fingers together and stretch their arms as they feel a pang of guilt. They were surprised, really, that Boone was waiting for them at the Lucky all. Half figured he might have up and left in the week it took to get to the Legion and back. But he’s still here, and he’s mad as hell, and Bunny can’t help feel like it’s their fault. 

But Boone’s being stupid, and he’s wrong. 

“We ain’t gonna take on the whole of the Legion.” They approach Boone carefully, like he’s a sulking dog they want to throw a steak to, to get him to come around. “But I hear tell a scout camp just south of Nipton that could use a scouring. What’d you say?”

Boone glaces up, eyes latching on to theirs through the tint of his glasses. After a moment he grunts, sits up. 

“Alright,” he says. “Better’n nothing.”

Bunny pops back up from the chair. “That’s the spirit,” they say. “Let’s get the holy hell outta here.”

  
  


~~~

  
  


They head south together, and Bunny feels the weight of the past week hang heavy on them, making their thoughts sluggish and their boots heavy, like trying to lift them through fresh-poured NCR-made cement. Their mind wanders through the game they are now part of, wondering what mistakes they are making, who’s going to get hurt on their account, and why people keep asking them to climb these hills they definitely don’t want to die on. 

Boone follows along in his customary spot behind them and a bit to the left, quiet as the grave, and by the time they reach Nipton, Bunny realizes they’ve said maybe twenty words between them the whole trip. Well, perhaps that’s an exaggeration.  _ Boone’s  _ said about twenty. Bunny’s said maybe forty-seven. All  _ look left  _ and  _ enemy spotted  _ and the occasional compliment on a tricky shot well made. 

The Legion camp is easy enough to find. Bunny had slipped right past it on their way back north with Siri, noting its location but not bothering to put the poor woman through any more of a wringer than she’d been through already by stopping to kill some of the folks who’d done her so wrong.

Shadows grow long behind them as take the camp. Boone works silently, his face grim, a glint in his eye as he takes headshot after headshot. When the Legion soldiers are dead, Bunny lets the captive Powder Gangers go with a resigned sigh, lets the bolt and knows the poor sods will probably end up on the wrong end of their varmint rifle eventually, and loots the Legion camp for supplies.

“We’ll kip at Wolfhorn Ranch tonight,” Bunny informs Boone with a glance at the sun as it tips long and lazy towards the horizon. “Ever been up there?”

Boone shakes his head as Bunny leads the way through the barren scrub-land up towards the hilltop farm, long-abandoned. It’s a favorite spot of Bunny’s to lay low for a night when couriering would send them south of Primm. There’s shelter in a shack if the rads are bad or there’s a dust storm ripping through. If the night’s clear, there’s a near three-sixty view of the Mojave, making it tough for someone to approach without being spotted. And it’s real pretty for enjoying a clear, moon-bright night like tonight promises to be.

They reach the camp as the first starts dot the sky, fingerling clouds gone dark orange and rapidly dissipating as the moon makes herself known, brimming half full. Somewhere out in the distance, a nightstalker howls. Bunny counts under their breath, hears the yip of another ‘stalker a few seconds later. They’ll be hunting tonight. 

Evidently Boone notices the same thing because he huffs. “Gonna want a fire to keep those things off.” 

The two of them set up camp below the windmill and make dinner, exchanging a few words of direction or inquiry. Bunny’s not sure where the easy comradery between them’s gone, but there’s a hint of something tense as they eat quietly and settle in for the night. 

Bunny tunes their pip-boy to Mojave Music Radio and lays out their bedroll, humming along to  _ Sit and Dream  _ as they lay out their pack and flop back to gaze up at the stars. Boone sits on his pack, stretching his long legs out towards the fire. He takes out a chunk of wood and a pocket knife, and begins to whittle. 

Bunny’s thoughts drift back through the events of the past few days. Not going as far back as Caesar or Mr. House. It’s too nice out to think about such nasty men. Instead they think about meeting a First Recon unit at Camp Mccarran. Talking to Bitter-Root about Bitter Springs. Meeting Ten of Spades, and the others. 

They roll on their side and look at Boone. He’s sitting not far off, little bits of wood chipping away from the block he’s working with his knife. 

“You must’ve been at Bitter Springs,” Bunny says. The knife stops, buried in the wood, and Boone looks over at Bunny.

“I was.” 

Bunny waits a beat, and he goes back to whittling. “And?”

“That’s it. I was there. End of story.”

“But Bitter-Root said--”

Boone heaves a sigh. “Look, we’ve been traveling together for a bit now, but we’re not comrades-in-arms. I’m not ready to trade war stories.” 

Jokes on Boone, then. Bunny doesn’t have any war stories. “You just want me to commit to helping you wipe out the Legion before you’ll say more’n three words to me.”

His eyes drop away, roving the ground until they land on the fire. “Couldn’t hurt,” he mumbles, almost embarrassed, like he’s surprised Bunny’s seen through him. He might be a stone wall, but he’s got all sorts of cracks in the masonry. 

“I’m sorry about Carla,” Bunny says after a while. They imagine that Carla might have been there, at the Fort. A slave, hauling massive loads of supplies up and down the steps. Ragged wisps of sack cloth tied with twine their only footwear. 

Boone doesn’t say anything, just stares at the fire looking sullen. “She’s in a better place, now.”

He’s so convinced she’s dead. But if she was sold… “How do you know?”

“Because I was there.”

Bunny frowns. “What’d you mean?”

“After they took her. I tracked her down. Found the Legion swarming on the slave pens. Bidding on things no man has a right to.” His voice goes flat and dangerous, weighed down like wet cement. “It was just me and my rifle. So I took the shot.”

A thrill of cold spikes down Bunny’s spine. “You didn’t…” They swallow hard. Somehow it’s too easy, seeing him choosing the mercy kill. Instead of  _ trying. _ “Try to rescue her? Not even--”

“And  _ what _ ? Get killed before I could reach her? And then she’d still be there. Worse off.”

“But you didn’t  _ try?” _

“You were in Caesar's camp,” Boone said. “You spoke to him. And you didn’t  _ try _ to kill him?”

Bunny fell silent, frowning. More puzzles that they weren’t clever enough to solve. 

“It’s my fault,” Boone says. “I should never have gotten close to her. But if it wasn’t Carla, it would’ve been someone else.” He heaves a sigh. “I have bad things coming to me.”

“I don’t understand…” Bunny watches him, wonder if he’s talking about karma, or if he’s a wanted man living on borrowed time or--

“I just know, okay? You should keep your distance, too.”

Bunny’s got nothing to say to such a warning. Not sure if he’s pitying himself or if he really thinks he’s that dangerous. They hear the quiet shick of a blade on wood as Boone turns back to his whittling. Bunny didn’t know anyone could make whittling sound so  _ annoyed.  _

Bunny sits up, suddenly itchy to do something. The gleam of their new gun catches their eye and they picke it up slowly, hefting the well-balanced weight of it. The gun near shimmers, reflecting the flicker of flames as Bunny turns it this way and that. It’s too showy for for their taste, but it’s somehow comforting. Toting the gun that should have killed them. They disassemble it slowly, fingers tracing the fancy scrollwork on the barrel. Drop the clip, check the hammer and the receiver. Clean it all and put it back together, piece by piece. Benny may have been an idiot but he’d been a meticulous fellow, had fine taste in all manner of worldly goods. Not a screw missing or a rusty spring in the whole mechanism. 

Boone shifts, and Bunny realizes he’s stopped whittling to watch them fiddle with their new handgun. 

“Where’d you learn to shoot?” he asks, when Bunny glances up with raised brows. “Don’t see the Followers being happy about handing out guns to kids.” The return of the shick-scrape of Boone’s knife on wood underscores his question. 

“I was always runnin’ off with the local kids. Farm kids are dead good shots, you know.”

“I’m a farm kid. I know.”

Bunny smile a little. “Seems like you might’ve been,” Bunny says, rolling their head back to watch Boone whittle. The block of wood isn’t a clear shape yet, the corners just rounded and some gouges dug in deep. Boone’s hands are square and large, fingers thick. His hands look like they should be clumsy, but his pocket knife digs into the wood with true, easy strokes. Like Boone might’ve been clumsy once, but long practice has made everything about him precise. Boone’s a man who should be holding a hammer, and instead he’s taken to a lance. 

Bunny leans into the subject. “I was one of the older kids--a teenager--when Mama took her mission east. When we made it to the Mojave, a Ranger acted as our guide. I--” Their head starts to hurt a little, an ache flashing through their scar. They frown through the pain, push on through the memory even though it feels suddenly like it happened to somebody else. “Mama said that Ranger was the best-worst thing that ever happened to me. There was no tamin’ me after that.”

Boone huffs what they think might have been a laugh, a little smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

They raise an eyebrow at him, trying to smile back through the creeping fog of a headache. “I wanted to be a Ranger so bad, ‘cuz of Ranger Willa. Then I found out you had t’ join up with the NCR’s military t’ be one.”

Boone stops whittling again and watches them mildly, “You got something against the NCR?” 

Bunny laughs, their shoulders shaking, through the motion sends a spike through their temple. They wince. “Mmmm. No,” they say, taking a breath, rubbing at the scar. “I don’t have problems with most folks just livin’. I think the military might’v had a problem with me, though. Not so good at bein’ told where to go or what to do. Not for long, anyway.”

Boone scoffs a little, though he’s frowning at Bunny oddly. “You also have to be damn good. Only thing better than First Recon is a NCR Ranger.”

Bunny scoffs right back, mock glares at him. “What, and I’m not damn good?”

“Oh,” Boone says. “You’re pretty good. Dunno about  _ damn  _ good. But... you’re good.” 

Bunny flashes him a crooked smile. “ _ Aw _ , you think I’m good? I’ll take it.”

He looks away and clears his throat. “You want first watch, or second?”

Their smile settles into a smirk as Boone scuffs his toe in in the dirt. “Second,” says Bunny. “Sleep might clear up this headache that’s settling in.” 

Boone makes a quiet noise of agreement, or maybe it’s acquiescence through his boot-aimed frown. The desert night holds a chill and Bunny burrows into their bedroll with a quiet noise of their own, rustling the blankets until they get them just right around their shoulders, their head resting on the cloth sack of clothes they keep in their pack as both a bag and a pillow.

Boone doesn’t move for a long while, working on his whittling and presumably keeping watch along the ridge. The fire snaps and pops and somewhere beyond the camp, nightstalkers hiss and howl while coyotes bark back. Bunny’s head pulses again and they curl tighter, and for the first time in a long time, they feel alone. Which is funny, because Boone sits just a few feet away.

As if their thoughts summon the noise, Boone clears his throat. “You alright?”

The question drops to the ground between them and rolls to a stop like a deflated basketball. A question that makes their head throb. Or maybe their head’d throbbing regardless. Hard to tell. 

“Not really,” Bunny mutters. They expect that to be the end of it. That Boone’s not really interested and he’ll let the deflated fumble of a question lay on the ground, pathetic between them. 

Instead, he asks another question. “Why’s that?”

And Bunny wonders how in the holy hell they’re gonna answer that one. “Meetin’ Ceasar will make almost anyone not okay.” A beat. Boone waits. “He was a Follower.” 

There’s a long silence, one Bunny wants to shatter with a hammer. Boone’s chewing on a bone again, one Bunny’s given him to try and win him over, but he’s giving less than nothing back. They roll over one last time, stare at him hard until he must feel the weight of their gaze and meets their eyes with a curious look of his own. 

“Nothin’s sacred,” Bunny says. Not sure if it’s to him or to the desert beyond him ripe with stars and the hiss of wind and things living beyond all odds of it being allowed. “No ideology’s pure. Never been. All this high-stakes bullshit I’ve been dragged into? There’s no right of it. NCR, Legion, Mr. House. Caesar. The Followers. No one’s ever got it right, have they? And now everyone’s asking  _ me. _ The kid with the hole in their head. Like I’m gonna get anythin’ right at all. So no. I’m not really okay.”

“Think you’re putting a lot of pressure on yourself.” 

“I think folks are putting plenty enough pressure on  _ me.  _ I won’t let ‘em use me. Not a single one of ‘em. And that means you, too. I ain’t gonna your battering ram against the Legion. Either you trust me to do what’s in the right, or you can bear your own cross.” Their head throbs again and they frown at him, half in pain and half in challenge. 

Boone nods real slow, watching Bunny with that little look that they think means he’s finished chewing his bone and he’s come to some sort of decision. His eyes dart to the scar on their temple like it’s some sort of talisman, a sign or a reminder, instead of Bunny’s current and probably ongoing source of migraines. 

He meets their eyes again. “Nothing good’s coming my way. But for what it’s worth, I’ve got your back.” It’s like an intonment. Like they should be slashing their palms and shaking on it with blood between them.

Bunny nods, and falls back, puts their hands behind their head and laces their fingers together. Thinks about how Boone’s always three and a half steps behind them, and how they hardly have to pull a handgun anymore before some raider thug is down with a hole in their head, because Boone is always ready to take his shot. No matter who he’s got in his scope. Even his wife. Even Carla. 

 

~~~

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FREE SIRI 2281.
> 
> The credit for Boone's affinity for whittling and a lot of me getting a handle on his character goes to ghostofshe <3


	4. Steel Around My Neck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow Boone and Bunny bicker a lot, it’s kinda cute but also c’mon guys plz just be friends already?
> 
> CW: Bunny’s chest dysphoria, having to remove a binder in an emergency, and unsafe binding
> 
> Note: Just in case there are concerns about NB representations, I’m basing a lot of Bunny’s gender stuff on my own experiences. These are not experiences universal to nonbinary people and are quiet personal. If you have concerns I welcome comments but I’m a delicate gender nonconforming flower so be nice? Thanks.

 

 

~~~

 

“This is a terrible place for a safehouse,” Bunny says, trying to put knowing in their voice. It’s hard when the heavy ring around their neck sort of chokes their confidence. It’s scary, the power a collar has over someone. “Powder Gangers come through Hidden Valley and use the bunkers about twice a week.”

The ranger frowns, eyeing Boone and his red beret and then Bunny and their the steel collar. “That ain’t gonna work, then,” he says. “I’ll have to figure somethin’ else out.” The man scratches at his red beard and looks away, eyes roving the bunker. “Too bad… it’s a perfect spot, really.”   


_ Not really, _ Bunny thinks.  _ Not with tech crazed knight-and-wizard cultists as your next door basement-dwelling neighbors.  _ Really, Bunny’s saving the Ranger’s life.

When the NCR man clears out, Bunny turns to Boone, who seems to be paler than usual, his face stony but a little drawn. 

“How are you at disarming explosives?” Bunny says, trying to keep their voice light.

He regards them for a moment, shakes his head. “I told you it was a bad idea.”   


“Oh  _ please, _ ” Bunny scoffs, trying to keep a shrill squeak from creeping into their voice. Boone’s not in a collar, just Bunny. “You can go any time. I’ll get myself out of this.”   
  
Boone looks at them, scowling. “Sometimes I wonder how you’re still alive.” 

Bunny grins at him, running a finger under the collar for the nth time. Somehow Boone’s concern makes it easier for them to stay calm. Like Boone’s taking on the worry for them, and they can pretend everything’s just fine. 

“It’s all luck, and bein’ real clever.” They wink at Boone. “Ring a ding, baby,” they say, and he groans.

 

~~~

 

Turns out Bunny  _ is  _ real lucky. Elder McNamara wants an outsider to do his bidding, since apparently none of the BoS kooks have left their bunker since the NCR chased them off the solar plant. Which is just plum crazy. No wonder everyone’s tense and stir-crazy, and another big shot is trying to usurp the current Elder and there’s scribe drama and sexual harassment and--Bunny thinks if they all just went outside and got some fresh air it might just cure their bunker fever. 

Still, there’s caps in it, and favor with a powerful, strange faction, so Bunny drags Boone around, looking for tapes and guns and whatever else McNamara and whoever else wants. 

Scorpion Gulch is all critter hunting, taking the high ground against bark scorpions and radscorps. The former seem to pop out of nowhere, though Boone’s always calling their locations before Bunny spots them. The radscorps aren’t hard to miss from far off, but they’re  _ fast.  _

Boone’s grumbling as usual, but as usual he’s also right behind them, covering their ass and spotting for them, calling shots and hitting every one. It’s the most he’s said since Bunny got the collar off. He’s been more relaxed since then, like the collar had been around  _ his  _ neck. Bunny’s fine with the quiet, though. After spilling the real story about Carla, they suppose that he’s actually holding up pretty well.

They wonder how many other people know. Maybe Manny. Probably not. Maybe not a sole but Bunny. It makes them want to give Boone a hug, tell him it’s okay that he shot his wife to spare her a hellish fate. Well, it’s not  _ okay _ , but what’s done is done and it’s okay to be sad about it. 

But they doubt he’d take kindly to Bunny flinging their arms around his neck, so instead they focus on their mission. Which means once they’ve made a dent in the giant scorpion population they enough rad-x to prevent the next a-bomb from creating at least one new mutant species and go irateated crater diving.

Boone paces just outside of the rad-zone, shaking his head. “You’re gonna get yourself killed for no damn reason,” he calls to them as they scramble back up, hualing the lead-lined combat armor and some holotags, as well as the tape they found amid the scattered human remains.

“I’m not worried unless I start glowing,” Bunny calls, staggering back until their geiger counter stops screaming at them. They dust their hands. “There. One down, three to go.”

“Better head back before dusk.”

Bunny shoulders their pack and nods. “Best to avoid sandstorms that’ll rip the flesh off you. Agreed.”

“Or we can not go back at all. Don’t you have Boomers to get blown up by?”

Bunny shakes their head. “I’m puttin’ it off for as long as I can. Besides, the Brotherhood’s got good gear we can weedle outta them--”

Boone’s head snaps up as Bunny slips the holotape into their jacket pocket.  “See somethin’?” they ask, scanning the area.

“Some bark scorpions. To your four. Just around that jut of rock.”

Together they head to high ground and Bunny can’t shake thinking about their conversation a few days past, camping up at Wolfhorn. How Boone’s single minded obsession with killing Legion is currently a side project for Bunny, and yet he’s still with them, still got their back.

They glanc at him, grinning as he lines up a shot and a scorpion dies. 

“That beret ever come off?” they ask, putting a note of teasing in their voice. 

Boone spares them a glance. “No,” he says. There’s a note of challenge. Hackles up. Maybe not good topic to tease on. 

Maybe… maybe Bunny can’t shut their trap. “Not even when you’re takin’ a bath?”

Boone rolls his eyes and goes back to killing scorpions, but Bunny’s got the bit in their teeth.

“Not even when you’re… you know--”

Boone turns, eyes wide and for a horrible moment Bunny thinks he’s going to yell at them, that they pushed too far, but instead he points, his voice cracking with frantic urgency. “Behind you! On your six!  _ Bunny _ , shit!”

An icy band of fear squeezes their heart, and Bunny whirls to check their six, getting their rifle up just as the golden-yellow blur of a bark scorpion fills their vision, it’s tail dripping venom, its many eyed face rearing above them, wild and mindless. 

The scorpion’s stinger lashes out, the blow lands square on Bunny’s sternum. A searing jolt of pain travels up their nerves, a mix of electricity and fire that makes the world pulse and blur into nothing but white-hot agony. They jerk like a puppet and fall away, finger convulsing on the trigger so a shot rings distant in their ears.

A terror floats through the pain as they  sense the bark scorpion coiling again. Another shot rings out. Not sure if it’s them that made it. The world spin and the scorpion slams into Bunny’s legs as it writhes and dies, pining them as they lose their grip on the rifle.

They try to swear and then they feel the weight shift, though it’s far away enough that it might be happening to someone else. Then it’s gone, and they’re floating through electric pain radiating from their chest. Hands find their shoulders, dragging them, lifting them and they shudder through a sick, nauseating convulsion. 

Someone says their name.  _ Bunny? Hey, Bunny. C’mon Bunny. _ Hot hands, too hot, cradle their face, pull at their eyelids. Light, too bright. They turn away with a groan, clamp their eyes shut. 

“-venom?”

Someone’s talking. 

“You have antivenom?” 

_ Boone _ . Bunny turns back, shuddering through another burst of fire in their veins. 

“Pack--” they gasp. 

His burning hands leave their face, and Bunny floats alone in the fire. Of course this is the way they go. Distracted by banter. Distracted by trying to get someone to smile, to get a rise, to make him--

Boone’s back, hot hands on their neck, he lifts them, pours bitter liquid down their throat, then water and Bunny sputters, swallows. They rest against his thighs, half sitting up, waiting. The pain pulses and slowly recedes. Just enough. But the sting is over their heart and it hurts, their chest hurts. The antivenom is just enough to stave the pain, not enough to fully counteract the poison, they’re going to die--can’t breath. 

Binder. Compresses their ribs. “Binding,” they manage to choke. “Can’t breathe…”

“You need that off,” he says, a thread of urgency in his voice Bunny’s never heard before. Bunny groans, far off thoughts of the anxiety it will cause, feeling exposed and unsupported, trying and failing to break through the pain.  _ Be reasonable.  _ Breathing more important than a flat chest…

Boone tugs at their coat, pulling their arms free of the sleeves. Next comes their shirt, and Bunny groans, not sure if it’s the pain or the shame, their torso bare, faded old binder pressing tight around their modest chest.

“Bunny,” Boone says. They open their eyes, little convulsions wracking their shoulders. “Look at me.” They do, caught in his eyes. He’s not looking at their chest.

They hesitate a moment. “Cut it,” they wheeze. Breathing. Good. Need air...

Boone kneels over them, and for a moment they’re afraid, afraid of being seen when they don’t like their chest right now, more boy than girl… but Boone nods, his face stony with drawn-down brows, free of judgment and touched with concentration. 

He slides his knife under their bindings, lifting the keen edge away, the dull spine icy cold against their burning skin. They gasp, the air bursting bright and welcome in their lungs as the binding snaps free, the release of pressure breaking through the radiating numbness for just a moment. They’re still panting like a beached lakelurk, but at least they can now get lungfuls of air. In the center of their chest, a raised stinger mark, angry and swollen with an oozing black hole at the center.

Bunny’s eyes sink closed with a groan, and stay closed because they can’t stand that Boone’s looking at them. They drift. Numb. Fear should be there somewhere. But it’s just shame that burns in them. Arms too heavy to lift and cover their chest.

A hand cradles their face and Bunny manages to open their eyes. And they find Boone doesn’t look once he sets the knife aside. He stares into their eyes, nodding a little as if to reassure them, as if he understands. Which Bunny realizes that he just might. That he probably does. And together they pull Bunny’s shirt back on with an aching struggle, his eyes still carefully averted, and then he wraps their jacket around their shoulders.

The sense of being lifted, an arm wrapped around their waist. Their own arm around Boone’s shoulder. They lean into him, their breath short as their feet try to find the ground. He has to hunch so they can walk proper.

And then they remember something. “My stuff…”

“Not important.”

“But--” Bunny staggers, and Boone drags them away, one stumbling step at a time. 

“Gotta get back to the Doc.”

“I’m--”

“Stuff’s replaceable.” 

They sag against him and his arm goes tight around their waist. One step at a time. One step…

There comes a point when they can’t keep their feet anymore, and Boone lifts them bodily onto his back, his arms holding them up while theirs circle his neck from behind. They groan in pain, shuddering against the solid heat radiating off of him. Nerves on fire, stomach churning. Their body temperature spiking.

“Sorry,” he mutters, arm tight around their thighs as they cling to his back, each step jabbing shocks through their chest, radiating out into trembling limbs. 

And sleep tugs at them, their mind spinning, the burn of venom fading to numbness. This close to their heart and even with the anti-venom holding off some of the toxins, they must not have long. It doesn’t bother them much, thinking they might die, though it should. Being carried is almost nice, now that the pain is fading to a numb and dizzy thrum-buzz that rocks their entire body. They press their cheek into Boone’s neck. Blink sleepily as each step sending a new fizz of tingling numbness spurring through their chest and limbs, weighed like bricks.

“Not a terrible way...to go,” they mumble into his neck. “Dying in the...arms of a…” they manage a weak chuckle. “A handsome guy.”

“Shut it,” Boone growls. “You’re not dying.” Bunny’s not sure if he’s trying to deny that Bunny’s in mortal peril, or making them a promise.

“Definitely not,” they wheeze. 

“Almost there,” he huffs, but his voice is far away and has a buzz to it Bunny’s pretty sure isn’t actually there. But then they’re pretty sure the swirls of blackness encroaching on their vision aren’t really there either. Still they can’t help but sink into it, feel like their melting, and then there’s nothing.

They wake up sore as hell, hands convulsing into fists as their body lurches from its state of dark suspension into the dim realm of consciousness. It’s dim because Bunny seems to be in a room made of metal. No windows, no light. Dry, cool air. They lay on a cot, sheets clean and crips--the cleanest thing they’ve smelled in years. The detergent scent burns their nose and they sneeze, which sends a jolt of pain through their chest. 

Bunny blinks to clear their watering eyes and sees Boone sitting in a chair, startling at the sound of their sneeze. Seems like he’s been dozing. Bunny wonders how long he’s been there. His mouth twitches a little and Bunny smiles at him blearily. 

“Hey,” they croak. “Fancy meetin’ you here…”

“Fancy that,” Boone replies, his voice flat, his eyes roving their face.

Bunny swallows, their mouth sticky-dry. Takes a deep breath. Breathing. Breathing is good. No nerve pain, no numbness. Just soreness. The familiar pressure of bindings around their chest is missing, and the look down with a jolt of loss for their old binder, that familiar friend. They’re covered up to their chin in a blanket. All very proper and modest-like.

They wiggle their shoulders free, extracting one arm so they can lift the blanket peer down the oversized shirt they’re wearing to see a massive bruise and a swollen singer mark where the bark scorpion landed its hit. They sag back against the pillow with a groan, their hand flopping useless at their side, eyes wandering the gloom-dark infirmary before they settle back on Boone. 

“Back in the bunker?” they ask, as if they don’t know.

Boone nods, his eyes averted. “The doctor said you’re damn lucky. That close to your heart…” 

“You saved my life,” Bunny said, their head lolling towards him with a sleepy smile.

“You’ve gotta be more careful,” Boone says, finally looking at them with a downward pull at the corners of his mouth. He drags his chair over, the legs scraping on metal, and settles with his knees against the cot, hands folded in his lap. 

“You were worried,” Bunny says, smiling wider, making him scoff. “If I didn’t know better, I’d wager you’re gettin’ fond of me.”

He peers down at them, eyebrows lifting. “Partners, right? I’d have to go through the bullshit of finding another one. Besides, you’re important,” he says. 

Bunny’s heart lurches a bit, the sensation as painful as the physical ache in their chest.  _ Important to-- _

“To the Mojeve,” he finishes, quicker than he normally speaks. “Hell if I know why.” 

Bunny’s smile fades a fraction. “The Mojave’ll be just fine with or without me. And besides. I’ve got you watchin’ my back. What’ve I got to worry about?” Bunny shifts, inching their hand to the edge of the cot, towards where Boone’s own hands rest on on his knees. 

He watches their hand like he’s spotted something moving out in the bush, and his own twitches. It shifts from his knee, moving towards Bunny’s slow as thick agave nectar. Bunny huffs a little laugh as their fingers brush. Then the sound of room dividers snapping open makes Boone jump, jerking his hand way to cross his arms over his chest.

Scribe Schuler clears her throat, eyebrows high as she glances at Boone. “You’re awake,” the she says to Bunny. “Right on schedule. I trust  _ this one _ will let you rest? He refused to leave. Something about the Brotherhood being dangerous to outsiders. As if I’d let anything happen to a patient of mine.” She shoots Boone a withering look, and his face goes bland and stony.  

Bunny leaves their hand curled on the edge of the cot, offering Boone one last smile before turning their attention to Schuler. “Many thanks, Doc,” they say. “I know you’re lookin’ out for me too. Can I have some water? Bark scorpion venom’ll suck the juice right outta ya.”

 

~~~

 

It takes another half day before Bunny feels well enough to find their feet. Boone leaves them to rest, muttering something about going to find the stuff they left, and Bunny feels a twinge of worry that he’s out there alone. But, they consider how  _ not  _ being alone is what got them stung. They’d been distracted by trying to get Boone to lighten up a bit, see what he laugh sounds like. Bait him into talking. He deserves a bit of a smile, even if he didn’t want to…

Bunny’s first steps out of bed teeter a bit, but they find their feet. First thing, bandages. 

They find some in a cabinet and helps themself, winding the coarse fabric around and around their chest until it lies as flat as it’s going to get, even though it hurts the sting. It takes them back to when they’d steal bandages from the Follower’s medical supplies. Until they got caught. In big trouble. Then Mama made them a binder, and all was right with the world. 

Bunny wanders the bunker, feeling the brainwashing radiating off each and every soldier they pass. It’s downright creepy, them in their skin-tight jumpsuits and culty-robes. Still, they do have cool stuff.  Bunny finds their way down to the requesions office and eyeball all the things they can’t afford.  _ Especially _ if Boone can’t find the gear. There’s four-thousand caps they’d collected over the past month, gone.

“You got any chest support?” Bunny asks the person behind the counter.

They nod. “Bra or binder?”

Bunny blinks, feeling as if the world has shifted just slightly to the left without anyone notifying them of the move. Binders have always been tough to come by out in the Mojave. The fabric needed for compression combined with stretchy stuff for proper fit? Well, they’re expensive as heck, and there isn’t always a high demand.

“Binder?” says Bunny, cautiously. 

The requisitions officer nods and fishes in a crate, stacking a pile of half-shirts in front of Bunny. “I’ll help you find the right size,” they say. “We’ve got a lot of folks here who bind.”  
  


~~~

 

The dust storm howls outside, but sung in the Wrangler it sounds like nothing but a distant roar. Bunny smiles a little when they see their friends in the back, past the pull and clank of slot machines. Cass is seated on the couch, a bottle of whiskey at hand. Boone’s over watching a round of pool, and Arcade sits next to the couch, his nose in a book. ED-E hovers in the corner, booping gently to themself. Bunny flops down on the couch next to Cass with a bottle of vodka and a glass of fizzing Sunset Sarsaparilla 

“Leaving me here with nothin’ but a robot for company,” Cass scolds as Bunny twists the cap off the bottle of vodka. They scoot over to Cass and lay their head on her shoulder. 

“I almost died, Cass. Shame on you, talkn’ like that to the nearly departed? Besides, ain’t you got Arcade to keep you company?”

“Arcade’s too busy bein’ in love with  _ science _ .”

Blondie makes a mild noise, looking up from his book. “You know that distilling moonshine is a form of chemistry, right Cass? The trajectory of a gun is physics. Everything we do moves according to the laws of the universe. Which we understand through  _ science _ .” He pauses, shooting them both a brilliant smile and an arched eyebrow. “What’s not to love?” His eyes drift towards Boone, who’s wandering back towards their corner of the bar. “Besides, you’ve got to find love where you can, and no handsome man’s waiting to sweep me off my feet. So…”

“See what I’m dealing with here?” Cass makes an exasperated noise and slips her arm around Bunny’s shoulder, gives them a squeeze as Boone settles on the other side of the couch. 

Bunny kicks their feet up on the cushions and grins at him. “Boone saved me,” they say, stretching out to poke him with a toe.  He huffs, swatting their foot away, the ghost of a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Little professional advice,” Bunny continues. “Stay away from Hidden Valley. Full of scorpions and madmen.”

“Jesus, Bunny. You don’t fuck around.” Cass peers down at them with raised eyebrows.

Bunny tips their head back to catch Cass’s eye. “Sometimes… sometimes I fuck around.”

Cass snickers and tossed back the rest of her whiskey. Bunny steals a quick look at Boone, who studiously plucks at the label of his beer. 

“So,” Bunny says, peeling themself off Cass to lean forward, elbows on their knees, chin in their hands. “Who’s comin’ with me to talk to the Boomers?”   
  
Cass cackles. “I’d rather stay here with the robot.” 

Arcade looks up from his book, blinking at them. “Boomers? I’m sure the Followers would like to get some insight into their...culture. Sounds dynamite.”

Bunny cackles and Boone huffs. “You’re all gonna to get blown up. Don’t think I’ll be there to pick up the pieces.” 

Bunny grins at him, giving him, elbowing his ribs. “You’re always underestimating how lucky I am.” 

He shakes his head, solemn and knowing. “Just… don’t get dead.”   
  


~~~  
  



	5. Coyotes On My Tail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, been a hot second! I haven't forgotten about Bunny, just working on other stuff.   
> CW for suicidal ideation/deathwish. Spoilers for Boone's companion quest, if that tells you anything.

 

~~~

 

There’s an almost-sweetness to him when he asks if they can camp on Coyote Tail Ridge for the night. A promise that they won’t stay long. A favor, or inconvenience. As if closure is a burden to Bunny instead of something Boone needs. 

He doesn’t allow himself to have needs, they realize. Silly Boone.

He settles into his vigil on the top of the ridge, and Bunny leaves him to his contemplation, hoping the desert will give him some answers and absorb some of his guilt. Like it absorbs the rain. Leaves no trace. Not that the desert forgives, but it understands, better than anything the hard choices it forces folks make. Sometimes they’re the wrong choices, and people die. Only way to survive is by remembering, and that’s just what Boone’s doing now.

He sits with his back a the fire, staring out beyond the canyon towards Bitter Springs as sunset falls. Bunny wonders what it was that made him ready to take on this vigil. Just the mention of Bitter Springs a few weeks ago had turned him into a scowling wall. But in the time between they’d been running missions for the NCR, rescuing hostages at Nelson, killing Legion saboteurs. Maybe all the time they’d been spending rubbing elbows with soldiers had been enough to force the issue. Maybe it doesn't matter. Bunny doesn’t ask.

They leaves him to his solitude, wandering the dusk-touched foothills, collecting broc flowers and barrel cactus blooms and fruit, the fruits of the banana yuka. Any flowers they can find. The pretty little gifts the desert offers if one just takes a moment to notice. Like the desert is asking forgiveness for its harshness with sweet little treats.

They find graves in the canyon that leads out of Bitter Springs. Some are unmarked. Some without names. Just the date, over and over. Bitter Springs Massacre. Some are too small for an  adult. Some bear the name of NCR troopers. Adorned with a dog tag or a combat helmet. 

After a few hours of playing mountaineer on the rocks it gets too dark to climb, and Bunny ambles back to the camp, bag loaded with treasures. 

“There’s dinner,” Boone says, nodding to a covered plate that ends up being bighorner steak and beans. Bunny grins thanks and digs in, washing it all down with a syrupy Sunset Sarsaparilla before turning to their fruits and flowers. Setting the latter aside as they peeled and chopped the former.   

“Dessert?” They say it softly, knowing their presence is intruding on Boone’s vigil, wondering what bloody memories they’re interruptng with something so silly as fruit salad. They hover for a moment, knowing they’re intruding--they always are, flinging themself into things they don’t understand just to realize too late that they’ve really stepped in it. 

Mama always said they need to think and look before they speak and leap. 

Like the chip they failed to deliver. Like Mr. House or 

But Boone nods, and Bunny passes him a bowl of the bright-smelling fruit before leaving him to his vigil.

 

~~~

 

“Bunny.” A hand shakes them from a dream where they’re wearing Benny’s checkered coat and commanding an army of lakelurks into battle against the NCR. 

“Bwah?” Bunny comes awake with a start, finds Boone crouching at their side. The fire’s out and it’s dead silent on the range. Bunny blinks up at him, his face pale above them, and they’re half disoriented as to why Boone isn’t a lakelurk and why no one’s wearing checkers. 

“There’s a Legion war party,” Boone hisses, pulling Bunny up by their shoulders. That starts them fully awake. There’s something in his tone Bunny doesn’t like, some eagerness, some sort of resignation. 

“You don’t sound surprised,” they mutter. They wonder if he’d been expecting it, if this is why he’d come to Bitter Springs--

“I’m not,” he says, tossing Bunny their armor. “Always figured this day would come.”

Bunny frowns at him, a thrill of dread churning deep in their gut as they pull on their coat and buckle on their boots. Was this why he’d come? Was last night his last meal, then? What was the point of bringin’ Bunny along. 

_ No, no, no _ . He can’t… Boone can’t possibly want to… It’s not  _ fair _ . Bunny  _ needs  _ him. All this is so much bigger than that they thought. Beyond a poorly aimed double-tap to the head. Beyond an idiot in a checkered suit.

Now it's Bunny who feels like the idiot. They should have seen it coming. 

He can’t give up  _ now.  _

The Legion raiding party takes them from the south. Bunny spots for Boone first, calling out the red capes and feather plumes in the murky pre-dawn. Their eyes feel uncanny sharp. With every Legionnaire down, Boone’s chances of survival increase. Then the dogs come, and Bunny switches from rifle to pistol as they close. Makes the run up the hill towards Bitter springs, wincing every time one of the dogs falls.

They glance at Boone. He’s grim-faced, eyes hot, movements methodical. Hopefully he’s not about to do anything stupid.

And then the last of the Legion loonies stumbles and falls. And it’s quiet. They stand side by side, panting hard. Boone’s t-shirt is blooming with blood across his ribs, but he doesn't seem to notice. 

“Too quiet,” Boone grunts.

Bunny listens. Desert sounds only. No noise from Bitter Springs, just at the top of the hill. Trapped between the canyon and the ridge. No frogs or geckos singing, or nightstalker grumbles. 

“The town,” Bunny whispers, reconing why it’s gone so quiet. “This first wave was nothin’ but a diversion. Coming up through the canyon…”

Boon is already bolting uphill, Bunny on his heels. Not so much because it’s a proper tactical move. More because they’re really not fond of the idea of Boone throwin’ himself on a Legion machete. 

“Slow down, dummy,” they hiss. He doesn't listen. By the time they’re in the middle of Bitter Springs, the Legion party slams them from either side, like a radscorp’s pincer. Bunny can hear the whimper of children, the bark of a dog. There’s no fighting presence here. The NCR troopers are all scouts and medics. A settler leaps from his hut, snarling, and dies with a knife in his throat. A baby starts to cry.

And this is what is must have been. 

Except it wasn’t the Legion, last time.

Boone, up on the ridge, sights trained on the old, the young, the weak. Not protecting them.

Next they know, Bunny’s back to back with Boone. There’s hurts here and there, their knee aching. Lots of blood. And lots of skinny guys in tunics, all lyin’ on the ground. One of them gurgles a threat and Bunny double taps him with gleamin’ Maria. The shots ring, the only sound. 

Their head falls back to rest between Boone’s shoulder blades. They can hear the thud of his heart within his ribs, breath ragged as Bunny feels around the edges.

“I’m not dead,” he says. 

“Wasn’t gonna let that happen,” they reply, voice hoarse. They want more fruit salad. Soothe the burn in their throat. Must have been shouting.

“Not really your call,” he says. Waver in his voice, but he’s not angry. Bunny isn’t sure what they’d do if he got angry.

“Nah, but I’d miss ya,” they whisper. His shoulders hunch and he leans into them for a moment.

Then the medics burst on the scene, dragging the two of them up to the hospital tent. They stim Bunny’s leg. Stitch up Boone’s ribs, forcing him onto his side. No shirt. Got twin pink scars under his arms, not quite meeting in the middle of his chest. Bunny wonders if they’ll ever have scars like that. If they can ever make up their mind. Binding’s good enough for them, for now. They’ll never be lean like Boone though. He sure does make lean look good. 

He looks up as the medic finishes, in time to catch Bunny gawking. They look away fast as a scuttling fire gecko, face hot as they reach for the mug of water one of the docs’d brought by. When they look back, he’s got a cleaner-than-the-old-one shirt back on, and he’s still watching them. 

“Feel better?” It’s all they can think to say. They’re kinda mad at him. Kinda sad at him. Kinda scared of him. He’s done a lot of wrong. 

“Dunno,” he says. “Not really sure what to do with all this. Doesn’t make sense. Shoulda been the end of it.” He looks puzzled more than sad. Or mad.

Bunny keeps their voice gentle, even if they want to scoff. “Things don’t always wrap up nice ‘n tidy like a story.” Suddenly they’re tired. Bone weary. A lighting-flash of pain lances through their skull. Scar again. Gotta find a way to de-stress. Not likely any time soon. The Mojave’s got them by the neck. “No such thing as fate.”

“You really believe that? After all that’s been thrown at you? Benny and House and all of it?”

Bunny shrugs, wrapping their arms around their middle. “Naw. Maybe there’s good luck and bad, but soon as someone starts tellin’ me what my destiny is, I walk. Too easy. Our life ain’t on rails like that fancy NCR train. Might not be much of a comfort when you gotta live with the things you’ve done, or the things been done to you. But Mama always said there’s a lotta power in choice. Otherwise what’s the point?”

Boone’s mouth and brows pull downward into a deeper-than-usual frown. “Not sure that’s a comfort. But I guess if I’m walking, I’m gonna be killing Legion bastards. And that feels like the right thing.” He shrugs, and they lapse into silence. Someone groans in pain from behind a divider, and Bunny’s throat goes tight. 

“I’d be real sad if something happened to you, Boone.” 

He blinks like coming from a dream, leaning back on his cot just a fraction like he’s surprised to find Bunny sitting there making sad-eyes at him. “Yeah… guess I’m pretty dumb sometimes,” he says.

Bunny shakes their head through another stab of white-hot lighting in their temple. There’s a twin stab of pain in their heart, but the latter is from  _ feelings. _

_ Selfish,  _ Bunny berades themself.  _ Just cuz he wants t’ die doesn’t mean he doesn’t wanna be around you. It ain’t your place to take it personal. _

“You been through a lot,” they say. “It’s gonna take some time to sort things out. I’m just glad you’re gonna be here to sort it. And do some good to help you feel right.” 

He nods slowly. Blinks slowly. Realization dawning slowly across his blunt features. 

_ That’s right.  _ Bunny wants to shake him.  _ Someone cares.  _

When they pack up camp a few hours later, Bunny finds their bag full of desert flowers from the night before. Their headache is mostly gone now, and the sun starts to bake down to bake the Mojave, just like it does every day. Things are changing so fast, but the land is steadfast. It might change, but not enough for Bunny to worry. Just survive.  Their mind drifts back to the graveyard lining the canyon, the one they’d wandered through the night before. The one with the soldiers on one side, the Khans on the other. 

They're still mad, but they have no right. Mama always said folks get the most hurt about things that are least about them. Then she always said there was one rule, hurting or no. You have to be kind.

“Hey,” they say to Boone. “Wanna go pay our respects for the dead? They like it when you bring ‘em flowers. Or at least it’s a nice thing to tell yourself.”

Boone pauses in strapping his rifle across his back. Stares at Bunny for a moment, like they’ve grown another head. It’s a reassuring look, because it’s not unfamiliar. 

“Alright,” he says. When he smiles, it’s bittersweet. Bittersweet for Bitter Springs.

 

~~~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter features Boone trying to be less of a 'tato, some actual fluff, and no one ending up in the hospital. <3  
> 10 points if you can spot the kurt vonnegut reference. 
> 
> Also taking requests for quests/gap-fills to do, cuz I'm just meandering through. >:3


	6. Snow In My Hair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boone and Bunny take a vacation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for discussions of suicidal ideation later in the chapter, animal death.  
> Lots of subtle hurt/comfort though! :O
> 
> Thank you [littleleotas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleleotas/pseuds/littleleotas) for the beta and for cheering on this little fic. Go check out her lovely writing! <3

 

~~~

 

“It’s _beautiful,_ ” Bunny says, looking around as the mountains swallow them. They take a deep inhale of the bright, electric air, so fresh it shocks their lungs. “And _cold._ ”

“Sure is,” Boone mumbles. But his eyes are as wide as Bunny’s as they trek up the broken asphalt towards Jacobstown. “Never seen so much green since California, though.”

Bunny nods, inhaling again, drinking in the strange smells around them. It smells like _water._ Not like a dirty pond or the river, but of green things. Things that need water to grow. The bighorner groves stand with silver-barked trees, scarred with black, their leaves trembling in the afternoon air. Rex barks at something and takes off. A few moments later he’s crunching a big green mantis in his teeth.

“I still can’t believe the King trusted me with his _dog_ ,” Bunny says, shaking their head.

Boone drops his hand from where it had strayed to his rifle. He’s walking side-by-side with Bunny for once, eyes scanning the horizon, but there’s a certain looseness to him Bunny hasn’t sensed before. Could be Bitter Springs did him some good. Bunny’s still not quite sure how to shake off the bit of sadness which clings to their own heart. He’ll never know, though. Mama told Bunny that it’s okay to show when they’re sad or hurting, but that’s something Bunny’s never been too sure on.

“Could be he’s sweet on you,” Boone says.

Bunny laughs, but a flush creeps up their neck. “Naw. Man like the King’s got groupies for that sorta thing.”

“Dunno if I’d trust a dog of mine with a groupie,” Boone points out. “Depends on the groupie I guess.” He’s got a point, but instead of conceding to it Bunny decides it will probably be more interesting to take a detour into the sparse forest. “Hey!” Boone calls after them as they veer off into the trees. “Where’re you--”

Bunny ducks off the road, into the trees. They make the most delightful noises, hissing in the wind, branches creaking and Bunny looks up into the golden-green leaves making the light dapple and shiver.

“What are they?” they wonder aloud.  

“Aspen,” says Boone from behind them. It makes them jump and they spin to face him. He’s so _quiet._ He reaches up and pulls a twig covered in leaves from the tree, twirling it between two fingers. “The ones there are silver birch.”

“You know a lot about plants,” Bunny says, wandering northward, parallel to the road. “I just know the desert ones.”

“Did a lot of survival training in different terrains with the 1st recon. Mountains are tricky. But there’s plants good for field medicine up here. Willow and aspen bark, good for pain and fighting infections.”

Bunny nods, drinking in the knowledge and enjoying Boone’s gruff voice as they prompt him for more facts about the flora up near Jacobstown.

The hike up the mountain takes the better part of a day, and Bunny notices the air going thin and sweet the higher they climb, making it hard to take a deep-enough breath.

As they emerge into a valley, they see the sign for Jacobstown off in the distance, but closer by, patches of white spread across the ground in heaped piles. Not sand. Or rocks.

Bunny gasps.“Is that… snow?”

Boone laughs and the noise is so surprising that Bunny tears their eyes from the drifts of white stuff to find him grinning.

“Never seen snow before?”

Bunny shakes their head. They stalk towards the pile of white, sink down on their knees and peer at it. It doesn’t smell like anything. They touch the white stuff carefully, jerking their fingers away when they find it cold. Not just cold, but _frozen._ They pick up a fistful, gasping with a shiver, fingers tingling. The snow stays in their hand, not sifting through like sand. And then something thuds into the back of their head and Rex starts barking madly. Bunny spins, reaching for their pistol as a chill trickles down their neck.

Boone stands across the road, one arm crossed over his chest with a hand pressed to his mouth. His shoulders shake in silent laughter, and Bunny stares at him as they touch the back of their head. Their curls are damp, and they pull away a clump of cold, wet snow.

“Did you just…” Bunny says, mouth dropping open.

“Yes,” Boone replies, exuding smugness. “It’s called a _snowball._ ”

“A snowball, huh? More like a snow grenade…” Bunny’s fist tightens around the chunk of snow in their hand and gathers themself. They snap their arm back and whip the snow at Boone as hard as they can. It hits them square in the chest. And for a moment Boone just stares down at where he’d been struck. Bunny scoops up another fist of snow. Packs the tingle-freezing stuff into a tight ball and lobs it so it smacks Boone square in the beret. His head snaps up, eyes narrowed, telling Bunny that they’re in trouble, which isn’t fair. Boone started it.

Bunny scoops up more snow, edging around a bit closer, and then Boone’s next snowball smacks square in the ear, the cold impact sending them reeling.

“Mutually assured destruction,” Bunny cries as they recover, hurling a ball of snow-stuff. It goes wide, explodes against the tree to Boone’s left and he scoffs while Rex barks, dashing between them, trying to catch the snow as it flies fast and furious.

“C’mon,” Boone taunts. “Thought you were a sharpshooter?” They shriek when another ball hits them on the left shoulder and Rex races back towards Bunny.

“It’s no fair! ‘M not as sharp as _you._ ” Bunny hurls another ball of snow and it hits him in the knee. They’d been _aiming_ for his smug face.

They exchange snow-blows for a few more seconds and then Bunny gets a shock as one of Boone’s throws explodes in a puff of powder, square in their face. They stand stock still for a moment, the icy tingle making their skin hum. And then they let themself crumple into a snowbank and lie still. Beneath them, their hand curls into the snow, packing a ball tight in their fist where Boone can’t see.

A rustle of green leaves fills the silence, the lowing of bighorners, and then Boone’s ghost-like steps. It smells like clean water and bright air. Rex whines, sticking his cold nose in Bunny’s ear, licks their snow-damp cheek but they still don’t move.

“C’mon, it didn’t hit you that hard,” says Boone. Bunny stays stock still, clamping their eyes shut so they don’t flutter as the snow soaks through the leg of their pants. “Bunny… Get up. I’m not falling for it.”

Bunny cracks an eye open, finds Boone crouching over them. And then they spring into action. _Operation_ _Total War_ is a go. Boone stumbles back as they sling an arm around his neck and shove the snow down his jacket--the new NCR one he’s taken to wearing over that old t-shirt, With a bit of a struggle, they manage to get their hand between his shirt and his skin.

Boone falls backwards with a yell, taking Bunny with him so they wind up straddling his chest, pinning his shoulders so the snow no doubt smears shockingly cold against his back. His eyes are wide, hands fisted in either sleeve of their jacket and Bunny smirks down at him.

“Fell for it,” they say.

Boone shakes his head, jaw setting stubbornly as he sits up a little, but Bunny leans into him with their hands pressed to his shoulders.

“You surrender? We’re runnin’ out of snow.”

They stare at each other for a long moment and Bunny realizes they’re breathing hard, half-smiling while Boone looks utterly perplexed.

Then Rex barks, not a friendly one, but one of a warning, and Bunny feels the ground tremble. Boone rolls out from under them as they look up to see a bighorner lumbering towards them. Not just a bighorner, but a _big_ bighorner, one of those bulls that get a little territorial.

“Run?” Bunny suggests, jumping to their feet.

“Yeah,” Boone agrees, and the two of them break into a sprint, heading towards the Jacobstown gates. Rex barks again, catches up and surpasses them. Bunny gets ahead of Boone despite his longer legs. They’ve always been rabbit-fast, running long and hard, so they slow a bit, glancing back as Boone catches up. To their left, they spot a cliff, one that’s climbable but out of reach of the bighorner.

“Up here,” Bunny hollers, darting towards their ledge of safety. A few scrambling moments later and they make it. Rex soars up next to them and then Boone. He struggles for a moment and Bunny hauls up by the shoulder of his now-damp jacket and they both collapse backwards as the bighorner skids to a stop at the ledge, rearing and staring at them with a brown-gold eye, his rectangular pupils blown wide as he snorts his rage.

Rex growls, dropping his shoulders, but his tail wags madly, like he’s having the time of his life. And Bunny laughs. A chuckle at first, but it turns into a snorting howl as they fall back, clutching their stomach. Shaking like an aspen leaf.

Boone leans away from them and Bunny dissolves into another fit of laughter as they look at him--they can’t… look at him. Stony faced and unamused.

“Fucking around like that’s dangerous,” he says. Bunny gasps pushing themself back upright. “What if it’d been Fiends, or…” He trails off, eyes flinty.

“ _You_ started it,” Bunny says, leaning over to hug Rex as he settles beside them. “Besides, there’s nothing more dangerous in this forest than a grumpy ol’ bighorner bull. And only thing grumpier than this mister is you.”

 

~~~

 

Bunny hates saying famous last words, but it turns out that there are Super Mutants staked out in Jacobstown, and Super Mutants are slightly more dangerous than bighorners.

A super mutant, a fine fellow named Marcus, meets them at the gates. Lets them in to see the doc about Rex’s brain, warns them about bothering the nightkin. Bunny feels a twinge of regret when they see the blue-skinned super mutants wandering around. Thinking about how they’d slaughtered a bunch of them in the Repticon facility just to launch a bunch of ghouls into space.

That guilt spikes when Bunny meets Lily, who wears a burlap shawl and a floppy hat and a little daisy on her lapel, and she’s so sweet to think Bunny’s her grandson that it almost makes them cry. They _do_ tear up a bit, and sort of wish they were her grandkid. Bunny asks her to send their apologies to the bighorner that almost gored them, and Lily tells them to take care, and Bunny _promises_ they will. And that Boone and Rex will too.

Jacobstown is a trip, and Bunny agrees heartily with several of the mutants’ wishes that it will snow. Boone’s NCR beret gets a few funny looks but mostly everyone leaves him alone. And then they get the bad news from old Doc Henry. Rex… he needs a new brain. And Bunny’s gonna have to kill a dog to do it. Rex is special, sure, but what makes it right to just shoot another dog for him?

They sigh as they look at the poor cyberdog, but Boone pulls them aside. “Look, there’s Legion dogs--human _and_ canine--we can go after, right?” He pauses for a moment, frowning. “And uh. Not just the Legion. There’s the scrapyard near Novac with all these dogs. Dunno, NCR’s got dogs too. We’ll figure it out.”

Bunny nods slowly. “Yeah…” They can’t help think of putting down all those Legion pups back in Bitter Springs, how they’d winced each time. Maybe if they’d known before...

“Trust me on this,” Boone says. “We’ll get Rex a new brain.”

 

~~~

 

There’s more bad news, and it also involves brains.

Nightkins’ brains. Lily’s in particular.

She’s not well, addicted to those stealth boys. All the Nightkin are. And Lily has a friend she talks to, someone named Leo. But there are things Bunny can do to help. Deal with some night stalkers, find some fancy stealth boy. Test it on Lily.

But the good doc maybe ain’t so good, if he wants to run tests on Bunny’s new granny.

But fine. Lily’s allowed to make her own decisions. So they strike out to the cave. Leave Boone behind as the sun starts to fall down into the forest, making the light go dappled and the snow turn a pretty pale pink.

The cave is decidedly not pretty. It’s wet and full of night stalkers and Bunny huffs as they and Rex and Lily mow through them. By the time they finish fighting, Bunny’s pants and half their shirt is soaked through, their jacket sodden. They’re freezing and miserable, and their hair’s gone all molerat’s nest and it’s gonna take days to fix. Gonna have to wear it all wrapped up for a while. And all around are dead night stalkers.

Bunny’s tired of killin’ things that don’t need killin’. Like the Nightkin at the rocket factory.

But they find the stealth boy, and that means Lily’s gonna be safe. And then Rex’ll be safe. All laid out like dominoes, these little missions. Do this to get that done, one and one and one make… something.

Bunny’s losing sight of meaning. And they like it up here, way in the mountains. Away from the Vegas lights, and all the choices Yes Man and Mr. House want them to make. Like who lives, and who dies.

Rex shoves his wet nose into Bunny’s hand, the sensation sharp enough to cut across Bunny’s darkening thoughts. They realize their teeth are chattering. Their jaw aches from clenching and they yawn, trying to work out the soreness.

“Little Bunny get warm,” Lily says, dragging them back towards the winding path out of the cave. Bunny isn’t looking forward to going for another swim.

It takes another hour to sort out the stealth boy, talk down a greedy super mutant coup, and make sure the good doc actually ran his tests properly. Bunny held their breath as they watched, but Lily comes free unharmed. Possibly. She just needs to take her pills.

Bunny’s clothes still aren’t dry by the time they stagger out of the doc’s quarters. Lily grabs them in a bone-crushing hug, patting their frizzed-out curls. “Rest now,” she rasps.

“I will,” Bunny promises. “But I haven’t seen my friend.”

“NCR man no sleep in hotel. Sleep in cabins. He watch you like shadow. Good to have friend. Lily have Leo. Good.” Lily pointed off towards a cluster of buildings across the yard. “Tomorrow we go meet my herd. I show you how to calm a bighorner.”

“Okay,” Bunny says, beaming. It sounds like a much better day than slaughtering night stalkers. “Maybe it’ll snow.”

“I hope so,” Lily says as she wanders off.

Bunny wraps their arms around themself as they meander towards the huts. One of them is pouring smoke from the chimney, and the promise of fire drives them to a stumbling trot. Each muscle aching. They wonder what they have to eat. Some crisps and cola.

They push open the door without knocking. Hinges scream, all rusted from the damp, and warmth hits them like one of Lily’s bone-crushing hugs. Next thing to strike them is the smell of something delicious. Spices and meat--

“Ah, uh.” Boone drops a blanket as he spins to face the door. Bunny throws themself into the room with Rex on their heels, shutting the door behind them as if slamming it in the cold’s face. Not welcome here. Boone shifts from foot to foot, a pile of blankets on a mattress at his feet, right at the edge of the hearth, just out of danger of the fire. He looks guilty for some reason, his eyes wide.

“Hey,” Bunny chirps, looking around the room. “You would not _believe_ the day I had.”

A pile of broken furniture sits in a corner, ready firewood. A pot bubbles on the fire, and the bed looks remarkably cozy. Rex helps himself to the middle of the mattress, flopping down to rest his head on his paws, one metal, one flesh.

Boone still looks startled and Bunny pauses. Maybe they should have knocked. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to barge in, it’s cold out there and--” they falter, taking a step back towards the door.

Boone has been through a lot in the past few days, revisiting his past, leaving flowers on the graves of those he’d wronged. Perhaps he wants to be alone, and Bunny just never gets it when people need a little space--

“No!” He shakes his head. Frowning. But weird frowning. Like he’s confused. Not grumpy. “Uh, made dinner. And this was the most intact cabin. The one with the least holes in the ceiling. But the bed was broken. Moved the mattress closer to the fire. Gets cold as hell at night.” He pauses, frowning. “Uh. Made dinner for us, I mean.”

Bunny nods. Their face feels hot, but everything else is cold. Hands, feet in damp boots. Their ears and their nose.

“Not sure the snow is worth bravin’ the cold,” they say. They tug off their boots, struggling as they stick to their socks. Leather ruined by the cold damp. “Y-you know the water up in these caves is actually cold? Not like real caves with proper dry walls.”

“What the hell happened?” Boone watches them struggle with their coat, also damp. It hits the floor with a sad, wet smack, and he shakes his head and scoops it up. Takes their boots too, sets them by the fire.

“Uh--lots of brain stuff. Had a standoff with some Nightkin. Lily is gonna get better though.”

“A _standoff_? Why didn’t you come get me? That’s not--”

“It was fine. Convinced them I’m tryin’ to help.”

Bunny shrugs free of their vest and peels off their shirt, inhaling sharply as the air hits clammy skin, even though the room is pleasantly warm. Being damp makes them miss the sun and the scorched, dry earth, the air so dry it crackles. Makes them want to find a hot rock and bask naked in the afternoon sun like a little brown lizard. But the desert is not so far below the mountain, they remind themself as they struggle out of their binder. It clings like it doesn’t want to let go, but right now they just want to breathe, feel unconstrained by clinging wet things. Huddle so close to the fire their skin will grow tight and hot.

“Alright,” Boone says, sounding oddly strangled. “Just don’t like not being able to watch your back.”

Bunny snorts a laugh and glances over their shoulder. He’s crouched by the fire, poking at the bubbling pot of something he’s cooking, eyes carefully averted

“You can watch it right now,” they tease, wagging their shoulders.

Boone clears his throat. “So the Doc--he’ll help Rex?” His eyes flick to the dog and then to Bunny.

Bunny squints at him, blowing a damp curl off their face with a puff of their cheeks. He’s being _weird._ But they simply nod and turn back to their pack, hunting through the tangle of gear for their big old t-shirt and the silky, leopard print pajama pants they got in Freeside. And that old pink hoodie. They wish they had a scarf.

The half binder they got from the Brotherhood does not want to come off, sticking to their skin like a burr. Jeans are a struggle too. Who knew being damp and cold was such a production?

Then there’s their hair. Mama used to braid it for them, but their curls don’t need braids, aren’t quite kinky, more tight and soft. A bit of oil and teasing will work out the beginnings of the knots. They find the little vial of jojoba oil and slick their hands, running it through their hair to let it soak in, rubbing the excess on the shaved-down sides.

Finally bundled in their dry clothes, hair cared for, they flop down on the mattress next to Rex. Boone still has his back to them, his neck red. Must be too warm, standing next to the fire. Easy to tell when Boone’s blushing, with his blindingly pale skin. They wonder if avoiding the sun is why he prefers the night shift.

He finally turns around as Bunny edges closer to the fire, shivering as the heat hits them full force at last. Boone passes them a bowl of what ends up being molerat chili. Bunny murmurs thanks and manages to catch Boone’s eye for a moment before he looks away. He puts a bowl of meat on the hearth for Rex, and takes the dog’s spot, dropping down next to Bunny with his own dinner.

The stew is spicy and almost too hot to eat, warming them from the inside while the fire warms them without. “It’s really good,” they say. “You cook good. Always makin’ dinner for us.”

“I like cooking,” he says.

Another spectacular three-word answer. They think about him carving away at bits of wood, sometimes just making toothpicks, sometimes crude little figures. “Like your whittlin’?”

He makes a noise of assent. “Gives me something to do.”

Bunny cleans up after dinner, grumbling about the cold floor and the cold water as they wash and stack the dishes. Boone laughs at them, smug on the mattress, and Bunny shoots him half-smirking glares. Soon as they’re done, Bunny burrows under one of the blankets. They aren’t sure where he got so many. Nor do they ever remember _needing_ so many. Bunny sure likes the mountains, but the cold is not so easy to love.

“Lily’s gonna teach me t’herd bighorners tomorrow,” they say through a yawn, wrapping the old quilt more tightly around their shoulders.

“Yeah? Gonna stay here a few days? What about Vegas? Mr. House?”

“Mmm,” Bunny says. “I dunno. Maybe I’d stay forever, if it weren’t so damn cold. Let someone else deal with the shitshow. Guess I’d miss the desert, though.” It was a nice little fantasy, living up here, helping Lily with her bighorners and protecting the super mutants from meddlers. Escape the political nonsense below that they just don’t understand.

Boone sits with his arms braced behind him, almost like he’s basking in the fire. They’re close enough that Bunny could reach out their hand and place it on his. They let the blanket drop from around their shoulders to bundle in their lap. Boone’s just wearing his t-shirt and a pair of dusty cargo pants.

Bunny elbows him in the ribs, gently. “Ain’t you cold?”

Boone shrugs. He shifts, his smile vague. “I run warm,” he says.

Bunny shifts a little too. “‘m a lizard,” they say. “Need sun and hot rocks t’ really feel warm.”

“You’ve really never seen snow before?”

Bunny shakes their head. “Desert kid, born and raised. Mama took me from _Baja_ when I was just a little thing, followin’ around the Followers. Headed north but never further than the Hub. Then we wound up in the Mojave, and I fell in love.”

“Well, welcome to the cold.”

Bunny rolls their head towards him. “Where’d you grow up?” they ask.

“Don’t like talking about myself,” he grunts.

He’s a hell of a conversationalist, this one. Bunny stares up too. Light leaks in through the cracks of the crumbling roof, the cold sky and a few twinkling stars just visible.

“Well, I’ll just infer you been places where it snows before.” His silence confirms it, and Bunny rolls their eyes. “Said you were a farm kid, too. My guess is California. North of the Hub. Cuz you ain’t tribal, that’s for sure.”

Boone huffs, staring at the fire. After a moment he brushes his hand back across the top of his head and pulls off his beret.

“It really does come off,” they say, grinning.

“It’s been off before.”

Bunny smirks, studying him in the flickering firelight. His lantern jaw holds less tension than usual, his expression soft and content. They realize for the first time how young he must be. Older than them, still but Boone always projected an air of stoicism and world-weariness that seemed to age him near ten years.  Bunny wonders if going to Bitter Springs could really have soothed his restlessness so easily.

It’d be nice if he could share some of that easiness with Bunny.

They lean over, wrapping the blanket around their shoulders like a cloak. “You run hot,” they say, eyeing Boone. Bunny had scarfed the chili, and there was a fire, and blankets. But they could be cozier. “You’re obligated to share the excess warmth.”

Boone makes a thoughtful noise. “You _do_ seem like the cuddling type,” he mumbles.

Bunny snorts, scoots over a bit more. Waits a moment. Boone shifts too, lifting his arm a little in invitation. “If it’s going to stop your whining about the cold,” he mutters.

They grin, suddenly gleeful, and slide against him. He does run hot, warmth radiating even through the blanket. He’s solid as he looks, and Bunny leans into him with a sigh.

“Shuttin’ up about it right now,” they say, their head sinking to his shoulder.

Rex whines and hops back on the bed, flopping down with a huff beside Boone, head on his knee. They sit in silence for a long while, shifting occasionally. The fire is mesmerizing, the hiss and pop soothing Bunny into a contented trance.

Eventually, Boone sighs. “I’m from a little town south of Arroyo. Dorado Hills. My folks grew grains. Corn and razorgrain and such. Not really that exciting.”

Bunny blinks against the heaviness of their eyelids, surprise at Boone’s forthcomingness luring them from the fire-trance. They shift away a little to peer at Boone. “That why you joined the NCR?”

“If you mean was I bored? Yeah. Outta my skull. Plus, there were too many mouths to feed, and I was the second oldest of four. Sort of expected of the older kids to join up. And... Doctors aren’t cheap. NCR’s a good way to earn enough caps to get a chest job or hormones. NCR’s good about all that. After basic I tested into the 1st Recon pretty quick. Shipped us out here. You know the rest.”

“D’you still keep in touch with your family?”

Boone shrugs his shoulders. “I did, up ‘till a bit after Bitter Springs. Carla tried to get me to write them when we--” he sniffs, hunching his shoulders. “When she got pregnant.”

Bunny smiles, heart twinging a little at the thought of Boone with a family. They try to imagine Carla for a moment. She must’ve been somethin’ to get someone so stoic as Boone wrapped around her fingers. She sounded _good_. Like a good person. Like someone Boone might’ve needed after Bitter Springs. Bunny wonders what Boone did for her. Loved her, obviously. Maybe too much. Maybe it hadn’t been his choice to make, endin’ her life like that. But the Legion… they hope they never have to make such a decision.

Bunny swallows hard. Leans into him. It makes sense, why he’s so sad. Walking dead man, haunted by a string of bad choices. “That’s a letter I’d’ve been honored t’ deliver,” Bunny whispers.

Boone opens his mouth as if to say something, but pauses. Bunny looks up at him and he manages a thin smile. A lot of feelings in that smile. Loss and tenderness. Bunny grins back when he meets their eyes. Gives their shoulder a little squeeze. To Bunny’s mind, it feels like more of a thank you than if he’d said the words.

“Why’d you become a courier?” His eyebrows raise, the question mild but laced with curiosity.

It’s Bunny’s turn now to balk at such personal questions, not because it’s private. It’s simply a question they don’t have an answer to. The shrug their shoulders, leaning into him, gazing down at their hands bunched in the blanket. Boone sits patiently, warm and steady at their side.

“I dunno. A cure for my restlessness, I suppose. People treat the person bringin’ them their mail mighty kind.”

“And if it’s bad news you’re bringing?”

Bunny grins up at him, tapping their scar. “Sometimes--” they pause, blinking against the memory of a bright muzzle flash and a stab of agony-- “sometimes you take two slugs to the head.”

Boone leans away, eyes flicking from their scar to their eyes. “It’s a miracle you’re still alive,” he says.

“Yeah. A miracle I suppose.” Bunny echoes. _A miracle._ The hiss and pop of the fire fills the silence again. Rex woofs a doggy dream. Bunny wonders if Rex will dream the same things when he gets a new brain. Bunny feels cold again, their mind sinking back into the cave with the nightstalkers. Rex and his new brain. Lily and the brain she’s stuck with. Bunny and the brain they’d probably had damaged beyond repair.

Maybe that’s why nothing makes sense anymore. They can’t remember now if things ever had.

It’s only when Boone shifts against them that Bunny realizes they’d lost their dark thoughts to odd, dozing daydreams. They sit up with a jerk, inhaling sharply at visions of Benny’s green face on a securitron screen, speaking with Mr. House’s voice.

“It’s alright,” Boone murmurs. “Time to sleep.”

He shifts towards the back of the mattress and Bunny tips sideways, practically melting into the plush warmth of the bed. Strange, they’d been sleeping in a lot more beds since getting shot in the head.

“‘m goin’ soft,” they mumble.

“What’s that mean?” Boone says. The bed creaks a little as he lies down beside them. Not touching them now. Maybe he’d had his fill of cuddles.

“Wasn’t till Benny put two in me that I started kipin’ in beds as much as I do now. Used to just sleepin’ rough, even when there’s an option. I like bein’ outside. But this--” they sigh-- “this is nice.”

Boone makes another of his noises, this one sounding like acknowledgement more than agreement. Bunny thinks they’re getting better at reading those noises. But they’re tired, and their mind soon drifts again, thinking of everything left to do, and how they’d maybe like to stay up in Jacobstown forever, except they’d miss the Mojave terribly. And they want to fix the Mojave terribly.

A lot of things they’d start to miss terribly, if they went away.

“Boone?” They say into the quiet, staring at the embers still popping with an occasional blue flicker of flame. “Can I ask you somethin’?”

He grunts a soft, inquisitive hum.

Bunny takes a deep breath, half looking over their shoulder to catch a glimpse of him resting on his side facing them, head pillowed on his arm. “D’you still want to die?”

Boone’s quiet for a moment, and they can almost hear him thinking. He shifts, rolling onto his back. “Not right now,” he says.

Bunny exhales, not quite able to contain the tremor of their relieved laugh. They blink against the sharp prickles sudden in their eyes. “I’m real glad you’re here,” they say.

They feel Boone smile. “You too,” he says.

 

~~~

 

When Bunny opens their eyes next, the morning light diffuses through dusty windows and the cracks in the roof. Bunny blinks, reveling in the warmth surrounding them, and find themself curled against Boone’s back, their cheek pressed between his shoulder blades. They don’t move for a long while, closing their eyes, keeping their breathing steady.

Eventually it’s Boone who shifts. He sits up and Bunny drifts back to awareness from their doze.

“Mornin’,” they murmur, squinting up at him.

“Morning,” he replies, already looking alert.

Bunny re-stokes the fire and makes grain coffee. They don’t talk much as they eat breakfast. Rex starts to pace, and whines at the door. Soon Bunny will go help Lily with her bighorners. They stand with a groan, stretching, and find their boots so they can take Rex for a walk. Still in their pajamas, not wearing a binder or anything. And they don’t mind. Boone’s seen them in all states, at this point.

They push the door open and stop dead as Rex bursts out into a field of white. It’s snowing. They yelp in glee, stumble out behind the dog. Boone isn’t far behind.

Bunny stumbles to a stop, stares up at the blank, white sky. It looks like the world’s gained a ceiling overnight, too close for comfort. Nothing like the big rolling skies with storms you can see brewing for miles off. But all the same, the fat little flakes that fall down to catch in the soft, curled mess of their hair and on their blinking lashes are something of a wonder.

 

~~~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna be awhile before the next update, but leave any quest/trope requests and I'll see what I can do! Haven't finished the game but still plugging away. Like Bunny, I don't wanna pull the plug on Mr. House just yet...
> 
> But I hope you enjoyed this hurt/comfort fluff. Took a bit to wrangle Boone into a good enough place to let his guard down so much, and I'm happy for them both that they're opening up! First cuddles... then ???


	7. Old World on my Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey an update! Silly kids. There is tiny Boone pov which I said I wouldn't do but here we are. 
> 
> CW for top surgery, traumatic brain injury and indications of dissociative identities

“Shouldn't be messing with that.” Boon watches Bunny with a sinking feeling in his gut.

They look up at Boone from the twisted hunk of metal, their face illuminated by the light emitting from the object that has currently captured their curiosity. A satellite or something. They look like a spirit of mischief, wild hair and a crooked grin. Behind them, the eyeball projected on the crumbling movie screen blinks at them, slowly. Creepy as hell.

“Shouldn’t be messin’ with a lotta things,” Bunny replies, speaking over the tinny drone of a woman’s recorded voice. “But who doesn’t like a little mystery?”

“I don’t like any mystery.” He scowls, the sinking feeling growing heavier by the second.

“Live a little, Boone. Maybe there’s some salvage we can sell to the Brotherhood. Or the NCR. Or the Followers. Highest bidder sort of thing. Real Vegas style.”

Rex whines, sending up little puffs of Mojave dust as he paws at the thing on the ground. Invisible fingers crawl up Boone’s spine. He takes a step forward, shaking his head. Back and forth, like an idiot bobblehead. He somehow manages to resist the urge to pry Bunny away from their new toy, lift them bodily and maybe give them a little shake.

It’s like finding the Brotherhood bunker all over again. Someone’s gonna end up with another explosive collar around their neck. How is Bunny not dead yet?

Really, if Boone has anything to say about it, they aren’t going to be dead. Not after seeing how much they need folks standing behind them if they’re gonna make it out of New Vegas’s political bullshit alive. So Boone’s not going to let some old world tech keep him from doing his job.

“Huh,” grunts Bunny. They reach out to fiddle with something on the satellite.

“Can we go n--”

_Shoop._

Hot blue light shocks through the gray dusk. Boone staggers back, throwing an arm over his eyes, his other hand groping for his rifle. It’s at the ready by the time the light clears. Rex whines, looking up at him with sad brown eyes. The eyeball projection sputters and dies.

There’s nothing to fight. And Bunny isn’t there.

 

~~~

 

“Bunny vanished.” Boone stands in the middle of Arcade's tent with his arms folded tight across his chest. 

“What do you mean, Bunny vanished’? Like, _poof_? Magic trick? Reverse pull-a-rabbit-out-of-a-hat?” Arcade pauses, chuckling to himself. “Or should I say a Bunny?”

“This is serious.” Boone glares at the doctor. He hadn’t known who else to go to. The old world hunk of junk just _died._ No matter what buttons he pressed to try and follow.  

“Yes. Poof. Flash of light. Gone.”

Arcade leans back in his chair. “You’re a man of many words, I see. I’m a doctor, not a mechanic.”

“You’re the smartest person I know.”

Arcade sits up a bit at that, half a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You can’t know many people, then. But flattery will get you everywhere.”

Boone huffs. “Just stating a fact. I’m not good with old world shit.”

“I’ll come take a look.”

“It’s far. Up for a hike?”

The doctor stands and stretches, his spine popping a little. “Lead the way.”

 

~~~

 

_Shoop._

The _Transportalponder!_ worked! Just as the sink-bot said it would.

Bunny gives the not-gun a little twirl and tucks it into a holster. Blue-white tatic sparks from their clothes and hair, biting across their skin. Teleport-blinded, they can’t see much of anything but the bright spot of a campfire and dim shadows stirring.

There are people. Bunny reaches for a gun and finds only the _Transportalponder!_ accessable. Everything else is packed away in a tight bundle on their back or in the gun bag slung over one shoulder Whoops… They drop their bags and trie to find a pistol.

“Jesus christ!” High and sharp, with a California twang. The voice is unmistakable, and Bunny freezes with Maria half out of their pack.

“Cass?” Bunny croaks. Their voice is hoarse from arguing with their own brain and then yelling at robots for the past two hours.

A dog barks, furiously happy, and Bunny finds themself on the ground under a wriggling mass of fur and dog kisses. They feel the shell of his plexi brain-case. Rex’s metal leg and paw bangs into them as they fend him off. “Rex!”

“And we thought Boone was crazy.” Another voice, a calm tenor. Arcade.

“ _You_ did,” said another voice. Unfamiliar and wry. “Is teleportation really so unbelievable? I’ve seen crazier.”

The scene comes into focus a little at a time. A few shy of a dozen people gathered around a campfire near the old satellite and drive-in. Vision still blurry, Bunny manages to crawl out from under Rex, who is now whimpering and dancing with glee. Halfway to their feet arms wrap around them from behind, pinning Bunny’s own to their sides. Their feet leave the ground as they squirm to get a look at their captor.

A jolt of panic subsides into a burst of joy.

“You little idiot,” Boone growls close to their ear. As unceremoniously as he’d scooped them up from the ground, he drops them. Bunny staggers around, grinning. His hands grip their upper arms, fingers clinging to fabric.

Boone is there. Bunny had kept a list of things that kept them slogging through Big MT. Rex, ED-E, Nuka Cola, Sugabombs, fruit salad. Sleeping in the wild, clean outdoors--not in a hell creator surrounded by insane robots. Getting back to their friends. And Boone. Not having Boone was almost as disconcerting as not having their brain. Well that was an exaggeration, but missing him certainly occupied a good amount of their artificial headspace. Bunny kept thinking about his dumb hat and his three word sentence and how he was the better shot and they just _missed him._

And now he was hugging them. Boone didn’t _hug._

“You threw me a party?” They grin up at him. Others crowd around now, Lilly hulking in the background, Cass touching Bunny’s arm. Arcade peers over Boon’s shoulder, happy and bright in the moonlight.

Boone glares back down at them, and their grin widens. There was his stupid red hat and his broad, closed face. Bunny hasn’t been this happy since being reunited with their brain. Granted, that was only a few hours ago, but _still._

“Don’t _ever_ do that again.”

Bunny snorts. “What, teleport into a crater run by insane pre-war scientists who uploaded their brains into robots and created an army of lobotomized humans? Yeah, I’m good on that.”

Boone’s scowl fades into a concerned frown.  

“Oh! I got to meet my brain! The robots removed it for a bit. Got it back, though. Apparently I haven’t been treating myself very well.”

Boone’s still staring, eyes locked on Bunny even as he turns his head aside. “Arcade…”  Urgency threads through his words. “You wanna come be a doctor for a minute?”

Arcade gently extracts Bunny from Boone’s grip on their arms. “We were all pretty worried. Whole search parties and everything. Even have two new recruits.” Bunny cranes their neck to try and spot new faces, but Arcade has them pressed into a camp chair before they can so much as blink.

Cold stethoscope under their shirt; more blinding light in their eyes as he checks their pupils. At this rate they’ll never have night vision again.

“What happened?” He asks, his voice soothing.

“Like I told Boone, there were these scientist-robots from--”

“I mean medically. Something about meeting your own brain…”

Oh… “Well, they tried to lobotomize me, but my brain escaped before they could damage it. They did replace my spine and my heart too but I got my spine back and my brain back. Left the artificial heart though. More efficient. More resistant to breakage.” They grin at the doctor.

“Bunny…”

“It’s true. They got themselves the best Auto-Doc I’ve ever seen. Didn’t even hurt. Left some fun scars though.” They show Arcade the big one running up their spine, and the one on their chest, where their heart lies. And the one running ‘round their head, hidden by their mass of curls, except for the shaved part on one side. Arcade makes thoughtful noises.

Their chest… there are others scars now too, ones unrelated to vital organs. Two vertical lines on their ribs where breast tissue used to be. Now flat. No more binding. No more embarrassing incident like with the radscorpions and Boone and the Brotherhood…

“How’s your head?” Arcade asks. “I know you were having headaches and some fuzzy memories.”

Bunny squints into the sky, stars twinkling down between wispy clouds as they think back over the past week. Their head hadn’t hurt a wit since they got their artificial brain. But as they ponder, a streak of pain hit their temple and they cringe. _Damn it…_ Just two hours reunited and already with the migraines.

 _Sorry brain,_ they think, hoping that somewhere their consciousness that Brain might hear them.

 _Well that’s concerning,_ a thought echos back. _We’re still damaged, I see._

Bunny frowns as Arcade continues to poke and prod at them, asking more questions about how this feels or that, what sorts of changes may have happened, and muttering about the tests they should run when they get back to the Followers encampment.

They submits to it all for as long as they can manage. “That’s quite enough fuss,” they say after a few more pokes at the scar around their head, shooing the doctor away. They grumble under their breath about nosey doctors as they escape the camp chair. “I smell somethin’ good…”

Cass hugs them around the shoulders, thrusts a steaming bowl of chili and leads them over to two strangers. “You’re just it time for dinner. It’s like you planned it. Veronica, Raoul? This is Bunny. The one we’ve been searching for.”

A tall ghoul in a mechanic’s jumpsuit and a human wearing what looks like a burlap sack with a pointy hood both look up from the satellite, tools and instruments strewn all around. They must be techies. The ghoul waves and the human grins, offers a small, grease stained hand for a moment and then reconsidered, wipes it on her burlap robes, and holds it out again. Bunny grins and shakes Veronica’s hand, nearly spilling their chili.

“Sorry,” Veronica says. “Been busy trying to get that satellite back online.” She is the one who’d spoken before, has the same clear voice.

Raoul just shrugs, hands in his pockets. “Told you it was useless.”

Bunny peers at them. “Where'd y'all come from?”

Veronica laughs. “Cassady found me hanging out at the trading post one day while she was lookin’ for you. Told me about this super cool satellite deal-y and I had to come check it out. I’m into tech. And Raoul--”

 

“Lilly rescued me from captivity. Long story. Maybe I’ll tell it some time.” He's got an accent like Mama has.

“You’re all here…” A bubble of joy rises in their chest and they hug Cass with one arm. “What… are you all doing here?” All around them are people who were worried about them. Even some new recruits. They scan the crowd for Boone and find him lurking behind everyone else, his face still stormy.

Is he _mad_ at them? He’d told Bunny not to touch the satellite. Must have been confusing, having them vanish like that, but he should know they always seem to skirt any real trouble…

Another thought that doesn’t seem to be their own surfaces to ride along, counterpoint to the joy: _Careless, so careless._

“Let them eat,” Arcade urges.

The chili tastes like heaven, spicy enough to make their eyes water. Xander root and mesquite-smoked gecko, tato. Maize cake sweetened with agave and chunks of yucca fruit.   Bunny hasn’t felt this alive in what feels like years. Friends all around, hot food, a clear, cool desert night… Starkly different from the ash-gray crater with nothing to eat but stale pre-war food.

Boone is nowhere in sight. Bunny leans over and whispers to Arcade: “Is he mad at me?”

“Hm? Who--oh, you mean Boone?” Arcade sighs. “He was kinda… really worried about you. There was a lot of pacing. Grunting. Brooding. More so than usual, which is saying quite a bit.”

The contentedness that warms their chest fades. “Oh…”

Arcade nudges their shoulder with an elbow. “It means he cares.” His voice is gentle again.

“I mean…” They frown, growing frustrated. “It’s not like it’s his _job--”_

“Go talk to him.”

They find Boone out among the yucca trees, shadowed trunks spiney and twisted, raking the sky. The desert wind sighs, a gentle hiss on the hard-packed ground and through the scrub-grass.

“Hey,” they say, making enough noise so not to startle him.

_Be direct._

Good advice, brain.

Boone stops his pacing and stares at Bunny. “Hey.”

Direct… right. “You seem upset.” Bullseye.

Boone is silent long enough that Bunny is about to speak again when he clears his throat. “Worried,” he says. “I--” He clears his throat again. “Thought you might be dead. Don’t think I could handle that.”

Bunny stares at him. _Dead?_ He should know better than that. Bunny has a mission to carry out. They can’t _die_ before it’s done. Because there are so many times they’ve almost snuffed it, and fate or chance or _whatever_ won’t let them. It’s close enough to luck that Bunny might just start believing in the concept.

“It wasn’t very fun. Glad you weren’t with me, you woulda been miserable.”

Boone signs. “Doesn't matter now. You’re safe, so…”

“Don't worry about me. Seems I'm unkillable. There were even some perks." Perks only Boone would understand. Their heart starts thudding against their ribs, anticipating. "Hug me again.”

Boone stares at them. Bunny spreads their arms wide and wraps them around Boone’s middle. He’s got six or seven inches on them, so their head rests on his chest. They squeeze tight, and his arms squeeze back, looped around their shoulders.

“Notice anything?” They whisper, hardly able to contain their glee.

“Uh…” Boone manages. He sounds awkward. “Not--”

“I found an Auto-Doc… I’m flat now!” They lean away a bit. “Figured if I was getting put back together I might as well make a minor adjustment…Look!” The place their hands on their chest, feel their heart beating strong and wild against their ribs.

Boone’s eyes drift down past their face. “Loot at that.” His face cracks into a smile, a real one, not a little smirk like he’s trying to resist it. “That’s…” He laughs. “How do you feel?”

Bunny rocks their shoulders back and forth a bit, and they grin. “Exceptionally normal.” Boone hugs them again, bodies pressed flat against each other. “I can get a lot closer to people when I hug ‘em now.” Their words muffled by his shirt.

When Bunny leans away, Boone’s face is closer than is usual for a friend’s face to be. Bunny’s breath catches, frozen like their namesake caught in a rifle's sights.

 _Oh my_ God, _kiss him already._

Bunny does. Their lips meet, a little intake of breath from both of them. He tastes like tobacco and sweet mesquite pod. Bunny's brain buzzes wildly. Oh, oh no.

Their toes brush the ground, Boone scooping them up for the second time that night. Bunny presses harder against his mouth. His fist balls up in the back of their shirt.

 _So_ this _is what you meant by missing out on having a body. You were thinking about Boone, weren't you?_

_Shut up..._

Boone pulls away-- “Did you say something?”

Bunny’s eyes go wide. They’d said it aloud. “N-no… Sorry. Uh. That was--” They clear their throat. Boone’s face is still so close, bodies still pressed tight. Stubble on his chin, lips parted, eyes dazed. “Do that again.”

“What, kiss you?”

Bunny nods. “Still speaking in three word sentences, I see.”

“Quit counting,” he mumbles. And kisses them again.

A fireworks-display of thoughts burst behind their eyes. What about Carla? What about Boone not liking them anymore if they make a mess. It’ll be awkward now. Everyone knows. How long have they wanted to do this?

 _A while._ Their brain, for it seems to be a voice separate from their racing thoughts, cuts over the jumble. _Just enjoy the moment. It’s what your good at._

So they do. Up on their toes, mouth opening. Hesitation gives way to sweetness, gives way to a moment of grasping passion before they break away with a gasp.gasp.

“You scared me,” Boone mumbles, not looking at them anymore. “Losin’ someone like...  you. Can’t do it. Not again.”

Again? He’s talking about Carla. Bunny bites their  picks up his hand and presses it to their chest so he can feel the shape of they should really be, how they are at last. They need to share it with someone. With _him_. Their wildly thudding heart, so bright he should feel the heat of it through their through their shirt. It would be nice if his hand was on their skin…

“It wasn’t all bad! I got to know myself a little better. I know like, 100% more about fighting robots than I did a week ago,” they assure him.

He still won’t look at them. He always seems to have trouble with eye contact unless he’s excited about something. Usually guns or talking survival skills, or NCR. Bunny leans their head against his forehead, pressing their hand around his, still against their chest. “‘m sorry,” they whisper. Brain was right. Reckless. Too in the moment. Maybe their brain being outside their head for a bit is giving them a new perspective.

“I’m sorry,” they whisper. That's probalby what they should have said. Seems like the thing to say when someone’s sad at you. Mad? Do people kiss when they’re mad?

“Just… be careful. Okay? You’re important. There’s some serious karma at play around you. And I can’t protect you if you go vanishing into… whatever.”

Protect?

_Of course. He’s atoning for not protecting Carla. Transferring those feelings._

Oh.

_Doesn’t mean they’re not real._

Oh… well… In that case...

“Boone, I--” They step away, drawing his hand from their chest to hold it gently. “There’s things I gotta do. I’ve been puttin’ off big choices for a while now. I saw some things I wish I could forget the past week. And it’s makin’ me scared that some mysterious old-world man hiding behind a computer screen could be runnin’ this desert before long. And I aim to make sure that doesn’t happen. Not on my watch.”

“And you won’t be dying on mine.” His words stark, his near-shaking fingers squeezing Bunny’s hand. A bare truth. A silence stretches between them. Even the brain doesn’t have anything to say. “You said you have choices to make. So, what’s next?”

_Yeah, we should probably think about that._

Bunny nods at the thought. “Yeah. Gotta go back to Vegas. Shake off those old world blues.” They manage to keep most of the dread from their voice, clearing their throat. “After that…” they only have to half-force the grin. “Start thinkin’ about the future. Maybe I’ll decide to kiss you again.”

Boone clears his throat. “Okay. Uh..  I’ll see... what I can do to convince you.” One last squeeze of their hand and he lets go. “Come on. Those idiots are gossiping already. I can feel my ears burning.”

“You go on,” they say. “I need some time to consult my… brain.”

Boone searches their face a moment before nodding. 

Bunny spends a long time staring up at the stars.

 

~~~

 

Bunny's eyes open into darkness. They haven't been pretending to sleep for very long before a chorus of snores and murmurs tell them no one else is pretending. 

Bunny rises silently and gathers ther pack. Boone is asleep nearby. He's not faking it--when he's on his side like that it means hes passed out in truth. Its easy to slip past Cass, who’s half asleep at sentry duty.

Rex follows them, sensing the need for silence. The desert night swallows them both; it’ll be an hour or more before anyone notices they’re gone.

An hour of lead time is all they need. So long as they can reach the Lucky 38 amd the Penthouse first.

As much as their friends seem to care, and as much as Boone wants to protect them, it’s too much. This is something they have to do alone. But after this, they promise themself they’ll stop being so reckless. After this.

Bunny wonders if Boone will still want to kiss them after this.

 _Doubtful,_ says brain. _But you’re doing the right thing._

“Or the wrong thing,” they whisper. “For the right reasons maybe. That’s how this new-old world works.”

 _Sure is, friend..._ _Either way, it's time to change the strip._


End file.
